


The Misfits

by Employee645A



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 39,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6395116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Employee645A/pseuds/Employee645A
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of tumblr prompts or musings. </p><p>All in the same timeline / headcanon of <i>Built for Two</i>, <i>A String of Pearls</i>, and <i>Seven Up!</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Care

**Author's Note:**

> "Prompt? Prompt: Therese is probably not very good at being taken care of, at least not early in their relationship. She's been on her own most of her life and has felt like a burden to the little family she's had. So the first time she gets sick, horrible bed ridden flu, she's the worst at being taken care of."

“Don’t ‘baby’ me right now, Carol.”  
  
“But - “  
  
“Just. Don’t.”

Therese crawls into bed, wearing the flannel pyjamas Carol gave her for Christmas. She’s freezing and getting into bed wearing some kind of clothing, something she didn’t do too often anymore once they moved in together. The covers of the bed are pulled back and Therese slides between them. Carol interjects by pulling up the comforter to her shoulders, but her hand gently gets swatted away with multiple taps from Therese.

"At least let me get you settled in.”

“I got it.” Therese says with a scowl. “I can sleep in the other room, you know.”

Carol ignores her and pulls up the bedding more, tucking the corners and edges around Therese’s outstretched body. “I know what you said, and I don’t care.”

“Carol, I’m fine. I just need some sleep.”

“Therese, you’re not,” Carol mockingly retorts, “you need soup, lots of liquids, probably a warm bath… “

“I can handle it, I just need… “

“‘Some sleep.’ You keep on saying that.”

“I can look after myself, Carol. It’s just a touch of flu. No big deal. I’m not some five year old or something who needs all this doting attention.” Therese turns into her side to face where Carol usually sleeps. “I don’t feel well. I just need to go to bed.”

Carol looks at the nightstand where she’s placed two big glasses of water. She nods toward the glasses, even though Therese can’t see her turned away and grumpy with endless sniffling. “At least drink half of this glass of water before you fall asleep. Do that: I’ll leave you alone.”

Unwillingly, Therese drinks it, and ends up consuming the whole glass despite Carol’s recommendation of only half. Now Carol knows she’s just going to wake up again in about an hour or so, and have an even more difficult time getting to sleep. Therese places the glass on the nightstand and finally puts her head on the pillow, murmuring under her breath, “I just wanna sleep… “ as she drifts off.

“I love you. Rest, sweetness.”

Carol leaves the room, letting Therese sleep in a nice dark space, sniffling, snoring, drooling on her pillow… Wait, Therese is sleeping on Carol’s side of the bed and using her pillow. She scrunches up her nose and abruptly turns around walk to the linen closet to get a fresh a pillowcase for when Therese wakes, and places it on a chair outside the bedroom door.

Carol is sitting in the front room, watching a new episode of _The Honeymooners_ , curled up on the couch, relaxing. The apartment is too quiet without Therese bustling around, either helping with dinner or washing dishes. When Therese emerges from the bedroom with the large percale comforter draped over her little form, wandering in barefoot, sniffling, a wadded up tissue in her left hand, Carol can’t help but notice how incredibly pitiful she looks.

“I don’t feel well.”

Carol smirks, looking at her ruby-nosed, watery-eyed Therese in so much discomfort. “I know,” she says in a soothing tone. She pats the space on the couch next to her and Therese joins her. That’s when she notices that Therese’s pyjamas are missing. Carol needs not say a word, but she knows something is amiss.

“I overheated. Or actually, I sweated through them… and the sheets.”

Carol moves to get up, then Therese presses her hand to Carol’s arm. “I already changed the sheets. Sorry I’m so disgusting right now.”

“You’re always beautiful. And you most certainly didn’t need to change the linens.”

“I dirtied them, so my responsibility.”

“Sweetheart,” Carol reaches to touch Therese’s face, repeatedly kissing her on the cheek, “baby, I take care of you when you’re not well. You are not alone anymore and you don’t have to tackle being sick by yourself.” Carol stands up and then tugs on the comforter draped over Therese. “Come on, back to bed for you.”

“But - “

“Let me take care of you, alright, Therese?” Carol is starting to get impatient, but Therese is so stubborn and unbending at times. Therese resigns herself to the fact that Carol is going to look after her and make sure she is comfortable. When they walk into the bedroom, Carol picks up the fresh pillowcase she had placed out earlier and then returns it to the linen closet. The bed is nicely made, but missing the comforter that is currently acting as a kind of cape over Therese’s body.

Carol offers to get another comforter from the guest room so that they don’t have to share the blanket that is most likely soaked through with sweat. Therese drops the blanket from her body and scurries in the cold to the dresser to find something more lightweight for her to sleep in. The first pyjamas she spots are her old navy blue polka dotted ones; they are practically threadbare at this point, but easily the most comfortable thing she has to wear in these circumstances. She walks into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth before Carol needs the bathroom herself.

“Wait until you see me when I’m not feeling well.” Carol sighs as she walks into the bedroom.

“What did you say?” Therese looked at the reflection into the bedroom from the bathroom mirror to look at Carol.

“Oh, nothing… ”


	2. Accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "fic prompt: so let's say therese was in a little accident, nothing life-threatening of course! but for whatever reason, she's told to keep the "extraneous activity" to a minimum for a few weeks. can you write a fic where the time has passed and carol and therese can have sex again?"

Therese might be a demon on her Vespa, but whenever she rides Carol’s bike, she’s an absolute terror. One spring day, before all the ice and snow are completely gone, while going to meet Phil and Dannie in the Village she takes a nasty spill, sliding into the curb and flying over the handlebars. She flies over the handlebars and skids across asphalt, scrapes her knuckles, elbow, knees, and thigh, and rips her skirt; however, is incredibly lucky to land in some mulch and the tiniest patch of grass in Manhattan.

The bike is okay, but Therese is shaken. She’s not too far from home and decides it’s best to go back, clean up, change and then head out again. When she opens the door, Carol is surprised to see her back after only twenty minutes. The moment she notices the scrapes and torn fabric, Carol whips into protector mode and is more distraught than Therese at the state of her. She immediately phones Phil (Dannie’s not picking up for whatever reason) to say Therese won’t be able to join them for drinks, and then tells Abby their plans are off for shopping.

Carol takes her into the bathroom to dress the wounds, and helps Therese remove her clothes. Picking up Therese’s skirt from the floor, she assesses whether or not it’s salvageable. Probably not since the fabric is so badly ripped.

Her thigh is badly scratched, sore, and the inevitable signs of a large bruise forming beneath the skin. Therese stands, naked, in the bathroom and waiting for Carol’s instruction. She turns on the hot water for the shower and waits for the water to warm. Before it can get fully warm, Carol encourages her to get in to clean the scrapes and remove any residue of dirt stuck to her.

The water is ice cold, causing goosebumps all over Therese’s skin. Carol keeps reminding her it’s only temporary, the cold will soothe the scrapes, and the water will be warm soon so Therese can fully clean. It’s definitely not yet the season for cold-water bathing and it pains Carol to see her shivering in the shower like that. Despite having spent the morning carefully doing her hair, applying makeup and picking out a lovely outfit for her Saturday shopping excursion, Carol makes the decision to strip bare and join Therese in the shower.

Luckily for Carol, by the time she gets in, the water is nice and warm, and Therese has more or less stopped shivering. Carol inspects her cuts and scrapes from the shower, crouching to look at the particularly nasty wound on her stomach where Therese had tightly clung to her bag. She tries to touch it, just to assess the marks, but Therese flinches and pulls away from the painful touch. Therese will never admit to being physically hurt so badly that Carol cannot touch her that she endures the warm shower, the lather from the shampoo Carol put in her hair trickling into exposed scrapes or the jolt she gets once the water turns cold. Even when Carol is patting her dry, as gently as possible, it’s still too much on her tender flesh.

But Carol sees this reaction from her right away, she knows how sensitive she is and how much she hurts. Carol leads her to bed, specifically her side of the bed so that she can rest on her opposite thigh, the one that’s not going to bruise into an impressive patch of deep purple. Therese rests on her side, facing the middle of the bed, where Carol crawls into Therese’s usual spot to be next to her. Carol offers tea, cocoa, water, anything that will take her mind off the accident; Therese is too shaken to want Carol to leave her sight, even for a moment, and keeps her there in bed beside her until she falls asleep.

Therese doesn’t have enough toes or fingers on her person to count the number of times she says “no extraneous activity” to Carol. The bruises on her abdomen and thigh, now raised and puffy, are a swirl of blue and purple, too painful to put any pressure on or even bend her knee easily. Her arm, while originally not seemingly injured, begins to show bruising as well, making it difficult to raise or lower her arms at times.

Since moving in together, Carol cannot easily recall a time where they had gone so long without making love. They have the occasional week without, but it’s very seldom more than a week.

But Carol really can’t wait any longer. She positively needs to touch Therese. She absolutely needs to have Therese quaking from her mouth and gripping her thighs as she recovers. She needs to taste how much Therese wants her. She simply needs to press her bare body against Therese, even if just for the most basic release.

Yes, she can “do-it-herself,” however, where is the fun in that when the most ready and willing partner is sleeping on the bed next to her? At least she thinks she’s ready… And it wasn’t just about Carol’s pleasure. Carol is patient to an extent, but sleeping by Therese every night, inhaling her perfume, touching her skin (at least the undamaged parts) with her hands, and observing the naked curves of her body whenever possible…

“Carol? Wake up.”

Carol doesn’t move, just sleeps with her back turned away from Therese, groggy, and at least three-quarters of the blankets gripped under her fingers and tucked under her legs. They don’t always wear pyjamas to bed, this being one of the nights they opt to forego them completely.

“Carol, I’m frickin’ cold and can’t… ” Therese tugs on the blankets; Carol doesn’t even attempt to let them go.

Then Therese remembers the only other way she has ever been able to wake up Carol from a dead sleep like this.

Therese manages to turn Carol onto her back, but that doesn’t do anything at all to liberate the blankets from her body. If anything, it makes it worse by twisting them almost entirely beneath her. Continuously disgruntled, Therese moves herself closer, crawling up Carol’s body so that they are nearly face-to-face. Carol begins to hum with delight, eyes still shut, and settles into an ever deeper sleep on her back.

All it takes is Therese’s small hand, wandering south of Carol’s abdomen, past the short, bristly curls between her legs, past skin so slippery she can effortlessly glide two fingers inside, plus the palm of Therese’s hand unwittingly hitting just the right engorged spot to finally get Carol to open her eyes.

“Oh,” she mutters when she finally realizes that Therese is naked, on top of her, sliding earnest fingers in and out at the most painfully slow pace imaginable, “I missed you.” She can hardly believe waking to such a sight, having Therese resting atop her and lovingly moving her hand to pleasure her. Carol’s hands instinctively reach for her hips to press her as closely as possible, trying to still the movement of Therese’s hips and then her fingers that arch upward inside by using her muscles to clench and pulse around them. She doesn’t want to spend so soon, not so shortly after waking to Therese gently. Therese lets out a throaty moan when she feels Carol tighten and throb around her like that.

Carol can hardly believe waking to such a sight, having Therese close to her like that. She waits weeks for Therese to recover enough to cure her unquenchable ache. Taking her hands from Therese’s hips, Carol moves them to her face she sweetly touches along her neck and jaw before pulling her in for a kiss.

“I see you’re feeling better, angel?”

Therese kisses her back, then below her ear as her fingers resume their pace slowly gliding in and out. “I am feeling better,” she whispers into Carol’s ear, “but you stole all the blankets and now I must claim what’s mine.”


	3. Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Carol begins a hunt "Easter egg" in the apartment, but Therese has to find the eggs eyes closed."

Easter morning, Therese wakes to find Carol’s side of the bed empty except for her robe, all folded up with a mint green egg on top with a note inside.

“Wear me.”

Therese obliges, puts on the robe and wanders out to the living room to see if she can find Carol. No sign of her in the living room, but in the adjacent dining room, there’s a place set at the table with some fruit, coffee, and a baby blue egg in an egg cup.

“Eat me.”

She finishes breakfast, taking the dirty plate and mug into the kitchen, where another egg, this time pale yellow, is by the sink.

“Wash me.”

These eggs are getting kind of bossy, Therese thinks, can’t washing up wait? This note has writing on the back, unlike the previous ones.

“At least rinse me.”

Therese can’t help but laugh and follows the note’s instructions. She makes the extra effort to thoroughly wash up and put the now clean items on the drying rack. When done, she heads back to the bedroom. Perhaps Carol has popped back in while she cleaned.

The door to the en-suite bathroom is now shut, and Therese can hear the water running for the bath. There’s a towel with an orange egg on it, placed on the armchair by the door to the bathroom.

“Join me.”

Therese gets this goofy, all-too-pleased with herself grin on her face, as she reads the note and then opens the door to see Carol outstretched in the clawfoot bathtub.

One final egg, a bright pink one, rests atop a washcloth by the hot water spigot. Therese opens it and continues to smile as Carol silently watches her from the bath.

“Love me.”

Therese removes her bathrobe, climbs into the tub, and proceeds to shower Carol with the sweetest kisses and affection.


	4. Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Carol daydreams of dancing with Therese out in the open"

Carol never minds dancing, at least not in the privacy of their own apartment where there are no prying eyes, and Therese is actually comfortable dancing even though she generally dislikes it. 

Most of the time, they just sway to the records Therese puts on when she gets home from work. Carol knows more about formal dancing, but never pushes Therese to conform exactly to that way of movement, even though she has attempted to show her some more elegant moves previously.

Sometimes, when they are at a party with their friends, Carol gets an overwhelming desire to take Therese in her arms and dance. Nothing elaborate, just hold her while listening to the music among crowds of strangers. She gets a far off look, which Therese instantly recognizes as one of jealousy toward the other couples at the party who are dancing, flirting, and kissing among other things.

As soon as they get home, Therese puts on a record, even if it’s a bit loud and after 11 p.m. and takes Carol into her arms for a brief two-step around the living room. They usually make it through a few songs before the downstairs neighbors smack the ceiling with a broom handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Billie Holiday - “The Way You Look Tonight”
> 
> Chet Baker - “Look For the Silver Lining”
> 
> Ella Fitzgerald - “Cheek to Cheek”


	5. The Drake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "maybe you can write a fic about carol and therese's second night at the drake? it has good "absolutely in love" and worship sex potential."
> 
> "Anon #2: “Therese is inexperienced and asks Carol to teach her how she wants to be loved.”

During the first stay in Chicago, Carol had insisted upon a Lake View Room at the Drake. “One must have a view of Lake Michigan or the river on Wacker on your first stay in Chicago. Simply must.” Carol Aird was no Lucy Honeychurch, and Chicago was no Florence for that matter, Therese thought to herself. Nonetheless, Chicago had a gritty appeal to it with all the iron, the drawbridges, the L looping around the Downtown. It easily reminded her of New York, of home, of everything she had been getting away from during her trip with Carol. Now, she found herself back at the Drake, under the peculiar circumstances of slowly making their way back to the East Coast.

This time, the room did not have a view.

The room instead was smaller, darker, more drab olives and tans, and lacking all that plush, luscious furniture that Therese had liked so much on the first time through. This room was practically spartan with its two twin beds and worn out duvet. The pillows weren’t quite as fluffy, also worn much like the bedding. And the view? It was non-existent. The only window in the room overlooked the Knickerbocker across the street; basically just the view into someone else’s equally depressing hotel room across the way.

Despite the running water in the sink, Therese could still hear Carol murmuring something in the other room. There were no footsteps outside the door and no variation in the location that her voice flowed through the room, so must be in one location. Perhaps she was on the phone. Therese tried not to think about it and passed her toothbrush under the water to wet it before applying the toothpaste.

As Therese began to brush her teeth, she remembered the night before. How caught off guard had she been casually brushing her hair, seated in front of the mirror, when Carol strolled in to toast the new year. They had been so caught up in one another, they didn’t even realize it wasn’t even New Year’s yet with the hour’s time difference. While Guy Lombardo was ushering in 1953 over in New York, it was only eleven in Waterloo. Maybe it was the beer, or the domestic sparkling wine Carol had picked out on a whim, but they had been so consumed with each other at that moment that nothing else needed to make sense around them.

She chided herself on wasting time fixing up her hair at that moment when her hair should have been the least of her concerns. Had she known she would be spending the evening kissing Carol, she would have spent more time making sure her teeth were clean and her breath wintergreen fresh. What if there had been lettuce stuck between her teeth still? Or a tomato seed lodged under her tongue? Carol didn’t seem to mind, or at least she didn’t seem to notice or care in the slightest about Therese’s oral hygiene.

Therese had no idea what to expect this time though.

Would Carol even want to kiss her again? Hold her? Would she even want to sleep next to her for another night in one of those tiny twin beds when her long legs just wanted to stretch out over the sides of the bed after a busy day of driving? It wasn’t as though Carol had bothered to hold her, or kiss her at all when she had been upset earlier. She had barely even touched her all day, except for a hand tilting Therese’s face toward her. Therese had leaned into Carol’s hand as best she could to savor every possible sensation of her skin against hers. In the end though, it was all too brief and Carol hadn’t touched her again all day. Hadn’t even thought of coming within less than foot from her at any time.

If only she was the one with the audacity who could have gone up to reception upon arrival to request a room with a nice, double bed. Hotel staff be damned, their opinion didn’t matter. Warm, comfortable, and cuddled up beside Carol was what she wanted more than anything. The view from the room wasn’t important anymore to her, but the bed certainly was.

Once she had brushed her teeth, Therese looked to the neatly folded pyjamas next to the sink. She couldn’t remember having folded them before leaving Waterloo, Carol must have done it when she was in the bathroom that morning. Upon inspection of the pyjama shirt, it had definitely been Carol to fold it so nicely with the buttons falling vertically down the center of the folded top. Therese couldn’t help but smile at the extra care Carol had taken with her belongings, but then remembered that she had done all of that before receiving that overdue telegram from Abby about the private detective. Therese almost didn’t want to unfold the pyjamas, maybe she wanted to keep them in that state forever: Neatly folded and cared for by Carol. There were no other options though, especially with her robe already tucked away in her suitcase. She had no choice but to unfold the polka dot pyjamas and put them on.

As Therese stood in front of the mirror, shut away in the bathroom she looked at herself in the strong fluorescent lighting. Her eyes were puffy from crying, her nose slightly red and runny from the cold, her posture slouched from sitting in a car for about seven hours. She removed her clothes in stages, everything below the waist first and then the sleep pants, followed by everything from the waist up. It was only when she removed her bra that she first caught glimpse of it.

There was a patch of red, puckered skin on her right breast. Why hadn’t she seen it in the morning? Therese couldn’t understand how the mark wasn’t there earlier when she had dressed. She then remembered how the previous night, Carol had wedged herself between her legs, keeping the majority of her weight on the bed rather than on Therese, and raised herself up far enough Therese’s body to rest her head on her chest. As she laid there, Carol reached for her right breast with her lips, slightly opening her mouth to take in Therese’s skin and suck tiny circles of light skin within the same radius for several seconds at a clip. Once she had finished with one spot, she would move to another to increase the marked area before her. Therese distinctly remembered it happening, she remembered how Carol’s mouth felt on her breasts, but she had no idea as to the marks it had lovingly left.

She observed the marks with her own two eyes, shades of red and purple from Carol’s intense sucking. Once she had looked at her own body, she looked at herself in the mirror, and glanced at the marks and how they looked in a mirror as opposed to her eyes. She could more easily see the extent of the bites, how they covered such a patch of skin so intimately placed on her. Therese liked the markings from Carol, she liked being able to look down now and see the blotches of skin where her mouth had been showing her such attention. In the mirror, she felt as though she saw them the way Carol saw them, the way Carol saw her, naked and exposed.

Before the chill got the best of her, Therese pulled her top on and smoothed out her hair that was rumpled in the process of dressing. She ran a couple fingers through it to make sure it was presentable, then looked in the mirror to see how she looked. Would Carol still like her like this? These same pyjamas, the same messy hair. Maybe I should just avoid her altogether, Therese thought, maybe she wants absolutely nothing to do with me anymore.’

Therese could still hear the sounds from the bathroom, the unmistakable low sounds of her voice as she spoke into a phone in the other room. She gathered her sweater, skirt, and other garments in her hand and slowly exited the bathroom. Before she rounded the corner, she turned off the light and spotted Carol perched on the bed, talking on the telephone. There could only be one other person she was on the phone with at this time of night; Abby was always there for her, no matter what time or place. Carol wished her goodnight and hung up the phone,

There was no reason for Carol to have to pay any attention to Therese as she wandered to the left bed. Therese had taken to sleeping on the left-hand beds in all of the hotel rooms they stayed in. The left beds were always closer to the window and closer to the cooler air whenever she felt the room overheated from Carol turning up the thermostat as high as it could possibly go. Without even making eye contact with Carol and not even concerned in the slightest as to how she was getting comfortable for the evening, Therese removed the extra pillows from the bed and quickly turned down the corner of her sheet and comforter. Nothing was going to happen that night, not after that. Carol didn’t need to pay any attention to Therese, and Therese didn’t need to pay attention to Carol. They were just two friends, good friends, sharing a room in a Chicago hotel on a January night. No, nothing out of the ordinary.

“You don’t have to sleep over there.”

When Therese heard Carol speak, her heart leapt; however, she did her best to not let her emotions show. She looked up to see Carol stretched out along the bed, her left hand propping up her head along with a couple of the flat pillows and her left leg angled upward to help her maintain her balance. Therese hesitated, trying to read Carol’s face to gauge what she was doing. Carol hadn’t wanted Therese near her all day practically. Why the change?

Therese could have easily spent the better part of the evening questioning Carol’s intentions, wondering why she wanted her close all of a sudden. Perhaps it was something Abby had said over the phone, a lick of sense instilled into Carol that Therese cared about her. She still didn’t move from the other bed, incredulous Carol wanted her over there. Therese didn’t even think of moving a muscle until Carol lightly patted the bed in front of her, beckoning her to her side.

Carol needed her right then. Little did she know, Therese needed her as well and just as badly.

As soon she Therese laid down beside her, Carol enveloped her completely in her arms; she couldn’t have had Therese any closer to her if she tried. They were pressed so tightly together and all Therese wanted was to inhale Carol’s perfume to memorize her scent. She burrowed her nose into Carol’s neck as they held each other, deeply breathing in an odor uniquely Carol of cigarettes, perfume, shampoo, and the car. That one night in Canton, Carol had horribly teased her by asking her to smell the perfume on her neck, even though it was the same perfume Therese was applying to her own skin. Perhaps they’d, once again, had a beer too many, but Therese was fairly confident Carol knew exactly what she had been doing. The scent varied based upon the wearer, and the perfume on Carol was muskier than her own.

Therese touched the cotton of Carol’s sweater, running her hand up and down the back, feeling the trim of her slip and the clasp of her bra beneath the fabric. Carol toyed with the thin cotton of her pyjamas and eventually placed one hand on Therese’s head to pull her closer, neither of them actually touching one another’s skin. Therese needed that though. She needed to touch Carol’s skin by any means possible. With how they had been holding one another, Therese’s head rested comfortably beneath Carol’s and into her neck, the perfect place she found for her to kiss. It was only a peck, but it made Carol shudder with surprise at the contact.

All it took was that peck for Carol to initiate kissing all corners of her face. One simple kiss to unleash all the emotions they had been holding in all day. As they embraced one another in the small twin bed, Carol used the arm wrapped around Therese to help lift herself on top of her. Therese clung to her, her hands holding Carol’s head as they kissed and slowly molded into each other. Therese did her best to stifle a moan as Carol settled her body on top of her, pressing and angling her hips delightfully into her own. That pleasant feeling that began low in her belly coursed its way down and made her hips attempt to move in unison with Carol. The feeling grew, she began to seek out any possible friction to ease the increasing sensation between her legs. Carol reached for the buttons of her pyjama top and began to undo them with alarming need to have her naked beneath her.

Before Therese became completely lost, she stopped kissing Carol, trying to still her by firmly grasping her head between her hands to stop any further movement.

“No, let me love you.”

Therese let go, dropping her hands to the bottom of Carol’s coral sweater to ease it over her head. She tossed it to the floor, hopefully the first of many clothes to be added to a pile by the bedside table. All Therese wanted was to pause and savor the sight before her. She had only ever seen Carol fully clothed or completely naked: Nothing in-between. The ecru slip and matching bra blended magnificently with her skin.

At a quick glance, it looked as though she was nude from the waist up. Therese had forgotten about her skirt as the slip was securely tucked underneath that as well. Carol, poised above her in a state of undress, was enough to distract Therese completely, rendering her unable to make a judgment on where to place her hands next or what to take off next. Carol smiled down at her and reached for Therese’s arms which she placed around waist, positioning her hands on the zipper at her lower back. As Therese lowered the zipper, she pulled each side of the skirt open with her hands so she could run her fingers over Carol’s hips as she slid the skirt down. Then without the skirt, Carol straddled her, even though there were still garments to be removed, like the garter belt and stockings. Therese loved the sensation of running her hands up her own nylon-covered legs to feel the silky texture on her skin; feeling the same thing on another woman’s body was just as delightful in her eyes. Sliding her fingers up Carol’s stockinged legs was far more pleasurable than she could have possibly imagined. The moment she reached the clasp to undo the first one, her hand shook as she started to detach it. Why was she so jittery? It wasn’t as though she had never taken off her own stockings in the same manner before, how could this possibly be any different?

Carol noticed that she was having a bit of difficulty with the clasp, perhaps it was Therese was unfamiliar with her particular style of garters. No, it wasn’t that. It was Therese being nervous about fully undressing her for the first time, even though she was practically done removing her clothes. Carol let Therese roll down each of the stockings that she unclasped for her, then helped her remove her garter belt and panties in one fluid motion. Before adding the clothes to the ever-growing pile, she looked back to the panties she had removed, noticing a wet spot on them that crept into the nylon and cotton fabric. She knew that it meant Carol liked what she had been doing, that she had been so aroused by being so close to Therese. But Therese wanted it all, she wanted Carol completely naked and to touch her skin with her own.

Therese was completely content spending just a moment longer savoring Carol straddled above her. Only Carol’s bra remained, which (of course) matched the slip and panties Therese had just removed. Therese almost didn’t want to remove them. Removing Carol’s bra was far easier than the garters had been. Her hands wavered less, she felt more confident this time reaching around her back to undo the series of hooks and finally letting the straps fall down her shoulders and the cups of her bra fall away to reveal exactly what Therese wanted. Grabbing her hips, Therese pulled Carol close to her so that when she leaned upward, she take each breast between her lips. She wanted to leave marks on Carol, just like she had none to her the day before. Therese wanted Carol to have marks that would last a week, so that every night of their ride back East, she would notice the red blotches every time she undressed, knowing that her Therese had been the one to cause them. Therese bit and sucked and claimed wherever she could, flipping Carol onto her back and pressing her face against her skin to capture it all.

Carol let her, and most importantly, wanted Therese to mark her as hers because she already knew what the next day would bring.

The second Therese became out of breath, a pair of hands reached up to start undoing the buttons of Therese’s pyjama top. Therese was worried that the movements would be too frantic; she wanted to keep this languid pace so she could remember every second. Carol carefully popped open each button, then slid her hands to Therese’s shoulders to slide the fabric from her. The shirt pooled behind Therese on Carol’s thighs, until Therese picked it up and tossed it next to the bed in the pile that had now accumulated all of Carol’s clothes. Therese removed her own pants, also added to the pile, and returned her attention back to her partner, sprawled out on her back in the middle of the small twin bed.

This must have been what it felt like for Carol last night, seeing her there naked, wanting, needing, waiting for her touch. Any contact with her hands or mouth to ease the building pressure. Carol’s thighs already glistened from where she had had to press her thighs together to ease that pressure, and she appeared so swollen and wet as she waited for Therese. Her scent was intoxicating, and as Therese crawled up the bed, the smell of her arousal permeated the air to the point where Therese couldn’t remember what she was doing. She needed to know what the hell she was doing though because Carol was waiting and she was so patient and so lovely and so everything Therese hadn’t realized she had always wanted right there before her.

Therese paused before starting, trying to remember exactly how Carol had made love to her with her tongue the day before. She recalled Carol’s lips on her, how they kissed every possible inch of skin around her upper thighs before starting to lick and suck near her center. Building up her confidence, Therese told herself she could do this. She could easily show Carol the kind of love and attention she had given her the previous night.

Looking at the sight of her with her legs angled and spread open, Therese wanted to take a picture to capture that moment of her need and her vulnerability. She was so beautiful on the bed like that. Throughout their road trip, Therese hadn’t hesitated to ask Carol to pause for a moment while she snapped a photo or two. It had taken Carol a day or two to become used to Therese asking her (or simply surprising her) Therese knew she couldn’t though; Carol would never let her do that in a million years.

Before Therese could distract herself yet again, she lowered her lips to the exact spot where she knew Carol would want her. It’s where she would want her to start if she were doing this to her right then. As her tongue swiped up, Carol’s hips jolted upward to match the movement of Therese’s tongue. The gasp she let out at that one touch of her tongue seared into Therese’s mind, how Carol’s hands immediately fell into Therese’s hair, grasping at strands and desperately trying to press her head harder against her, the way Carol’s taste clung to her lips and inside her mouth. Therese could easily figure out what Carol needed as she felt her hips move in unison with the strokes of her tongue.

Endless swirling of her tongue, endless patterns up and down, from side to side. Therese looked up from between Carol’s thighs to gauge the expression on her face. Her cheeks were flush, her eyes shut, her mouth gasping for air. It seemed familiar, it seemed how Therese had reacted to the same loving affection the night before. She surmised that she must be doing this right for Carol to react that way. Therese tried to recall what else Carol had shown her, how else she had expressed the ways she loved being with her.

Hands. She needed to make good, valid use of her hands. How could she forget? Carol had that ability to be everywhere at once, Therese could do that. Reaching her arms up, she placed her hands on Carol’s breasts, teasing the nipples with her index finger in the same manner she had used earlier with her tongue. The addition of Therese toying with her nipples only added to the sounds emitting from Carol’s lips, causing Therese to make yet another mental note of something she could do that Carol enjoyed.

The hand did it though. The teasing with her fingers and the occasional pinch of a nipple was that little extra that Carol needed. She held Therese’s head in her hands, tightened and stilled her legs, and that was that. Therese continued on licking at the insistence of Carol’s hands, until finally her hips stopped moving and she was forced to pull Therese’s mouth from her. Therese took a deep breath as she gasped for air, her ears ringing once Carol’s hands were released from her face, but not before she kissed the surrounding area, every spot except for the now overly sensitive nub at her center.

Somewhere in her mind, after Therese crawled up to Carol’s lips, she thought Carol said something, mentioning skill or perseverance or something like that. Her ears were still ringing and she was still dazed as she looked into Carol’s eyes as best she could in the minimal light from the nightstand lamp, trying to gauge how she felt. She was warm and happy, kissing Therese’s lips that were still marked with her arousal.

That was the thing with talent, Therese remembering hearing not too long ago. It was something other people let you know you have and Carol certainly did not hesitate to tell Therese she had one talented tongue.


	6. Lil' Slugger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "imagine if carol forgot therese's birthday until abby mentions it. therese has forgotten herself because she's so busy at work :D"

Carol would forget it on the day, but not entirely. A month before Therese’s birthday, she orders a cake from their favorite Midtown bakery. It just happens that year, Therese’s birthday falls on a holiday weekend, so Carol takes extra care in making sure that the order can be filled in time.

On the actual day, Abby makes some sly comment about how many birthday spanks Therese is getting this year when Carol perks up with, “Oh my God, the fucking cake.” They’d rush to the bakery to pick it up, but have to take a taxi because they are too drunk to drive, and they make it there with about a minute to spare before closing.

When they walk into the apartment, Therese is already there, zoning out, listening to some music and drinking a beer. Carol and Abby have to all casually walk in with this pink bakery box tied up with red and white string, so Carol distracts Therese with the usual questions and kisses while Abby goes to plate the cake and get the candles out.

Therese is floored when Abby comes out with the cake. Carol’s all smiling and thinking how great it is that they pulled this off. When the three of them look at the cake, it reads, “Happy 5th Birthday, Lil’ Slugger!” and it has a Brooklyn Dodgers motif. 

Wrong cake.

But who cares because the three of them are together to celebrate.


	7. The Talented Fingers of Mrs. Aird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Prompt: talented fingers of Mrs. Aird"

No lips, no tongues. Those are today’s explicit instructions from Therese. Not even a kiss? No, not even a kiss.

Very well. Carol looks down at her hands, thinking about the ways in which her two palms and ten fingers are going to make Therese quake. She’s done it before; always up for one of Therese’s challenges whenever they feel that their rendez-vous have become repetitive. Not that they are, just… Therese can be quite imaginative at times.

Carol knows very well how the palms of her hands will feel cupping Therese’s breasts, how her thumbs will brush across each nipple until they’re erect and disappointingly awaiting a mouth that will not descend upon them this time.

She knows that fingertips padding behind Therese’s ears, tracing along her hairline and her jawbone will make her squirm. If Carol can’t use her mouth, then she’s going to breathe intermittent hot gasps against Therese’s ear and down the side of her neck. At least that way she can see the goosebumps rise and feel them tingle against her cheek.

Down Therese’s legs, that is where the real shaking begins. That’s where Therese starts to lose her inhibitions and starts to seriously rethink this “hands only” policy. Carol’s fingers trace, they wander and meander without any particular goal other than to make her tremble.

Her fingers trace up and down at the juncture of her thighs, lubricating her slender fingers for what’s to come.

Therese loves the moment before Carol is inside her, she knows it’s coming when Carol’s fingers more fervently trace up and down, and side to side, and then suddenly two long fingers are inside, not moving to let her acclimate herself to the touch. Even with her short nails, Carol is extraordinarily careful moving her fingers in and out at a languid pace, ensuring Therese feels nothing but the fingers inside and her thumb rubbing circles right above.

She learns how to tighten around Carol’s fingers, a skill she learned shortly after moving into the Madison Avenue apartment, and it’s the greatest sensation when Carol bends her fingers just so to tap inside and forward. Honestly though, it’s Carol’s thumb doing all the hard work, gathering wetness to stay slick as she comes around the stilled fingers inside her, pulsing around Carol.

Once Therese comes, her lips are all over Carol. And Carol is nothing but smiles and returned kisses with her love in her arms.


	8. Rapallo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mini fic of Carol and Therese at the beach or at Coney Island. I haven't seen one of those yet. :)"

Therese couldn’t easily tell if Carol was awake or not with those oversized sunglasses covering every inch of her eyes. Carol stretched out on one of the lounge chairs, complete with a plush terry towel draped across it to keep her skin from sticking to the wood frame. Resting on her stomach, either cradled around pillows or Therese in their bed, or with a towel barely covering her from the waist down while at the beach or sunning, was one of her more preferred forms of relaxation.

Often, Carol would fall asleep that way while Therese was still awake reading beside her. When finished with her book, Therese would then trace her fingers up and down, following a route from the top of her shoulders to a figure eight around the shoulder blades to a straight line down her lower back. Using fingers or mouth, either way Carol would eventually wake with a tremendous moan that started somewhere deep in her stomach to crescendo upward, as Therese would awaken her.

Or, Therese completely forgot the last two pages of the book she was reading as she thought about the woman on the chair beside her.

On this day, and to Therese’s surprise, Carol was actually wide awake and tilting her head toward her. “I think you’re getting some color. Finally.” She might not have been able to see behind the sunglasses, but Therese could feel Carol’s eyes scan her up and down. Carol pushed herself up on the chair, then paused for a moment before untying the upper part of her black-and-white striped bathing suit and pulling down the straps to wrap around her waist. Therese immediately scanned the space around them, looking if there was any possible way someone could see into their loggia. “Carol… ”

“What?”

“But - “

“ - no one can see us up here.” she bluntly assured Therese. Face up, Carol laid back down on the towel, ignoring Therese’s questioning look. It was calm and peaceful so high up. Perhaps, on the upper patio of the palazzo where they were staying she could, just maybe, get away with a little indiscretion here or there. They were on top of one of the tallest structures in Rapallo, invisible to prying eyes with rails and walls that granted them enough privacy in the sparkling warmth, five stories from the ground.

“Not that I mind, of course,” Therese smiled.

“Of course,” Carol agreed. “Why don’t you… “ She motioned to the straps of Therese’s mint green suit, encouraging her to do the same. Therese could have easily hesitated, but she didn’t. She reached behind her neck and untied the strap, letting it fall. She could have readily laid down on the chair as soon as the top of her bathing suit fell, and instead, she hesitated. Carol’s gaze didn’t waver as she watched Therese’s every move, and Therese found it impossible to look away from Carol exposed in the sunlight. She slowly knotted the top straps around her waist, slowly reached down to move her book and sunglasses closer to her, slowly placed the towel across her chair, and finally laid down on her stomach.

The heat of the midday sun and the sounds of the waves gently crashing against the wall below lulled Therese into a comforting sleep.

Not forty minutes later, Therese woke to the sensation of Carol’s lips kissing their way up her back. Light kisses that managed to make the sharpest puckering sounds she’d ever heard, starting all the way from her tailbone leading all the way to her neck, waking up never felt so good. “Angel, wake up.” Carol helped her flip over and reached down for Therese’s sunglasses, covering her eyes, “I don’t want you to burn.”


	9. Patrons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This goes along with Chapter 15 of _Built for Two_. I didn't want to include it in the text published there, but just a "full circle" hint.

Saturday, January 3rd, 1942  
9:45 a.m.

“Who’s Margie?” Therese asked Sister Alicia as they walked down the corridor.

“Margie? Oh,” Sister Alicia nodded her head and smiled, “she went away before Christmas.”

“I got her Christmas present and opened it.” Therese shyly admitted. “Is that bad?”

“It’s alright, Therese. She won’t be coming back. She’s gone to stay with her grandfather in Seattle.”

Therese looked at the stack of photos that had been developed and pulled out the one photo that wasn’t of the children and sisters at Christmas. “When I got my pictures from the camera, this was in there.”

Therese held out the small square picture and passed it to Sister Alicia. The family in the photo looked older, as though it had been taken back in the late 1920s or early 1930s, presumably with a mother, father, an older girl and then a younger girl who was about Therese’s age, all with fair hair and warm expressions. They posed by a fireplace in a library, surrounded by books, wall maps, paintings, and a mounted rhinoceros head above the mantle. Therese reasoned they were probably important, dressed so finely in such a fancy, stately room.

Sister Alicia took one look at the photo, smiled, and placed it in her pocket.

“Never you mind, Therese. Just some patrons of the school. Go on and play with the others.“


	10. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could you write something about the scene, where carol and therese are in that diner and therese gives carol her present, takes a photo and the there are their touching hands and connecting eyes ... from carol’s p.o.v.?

“You do not, you look wonderful.” Therese earnestly counters.

It's not the first time she has touched me. That time in her tiny apartment, she touched my shoulder when she was trying to comfort me about the injunction. That was in the privacy of her home though. This is in public, on Christmas Day for that matter, in the nation's third most populous city where anyone in this diner can see. Well, even if the diner and the city seem pretty vacant, there are still people out and about.

Wait, did I get all the flour and salt from the crackers off my fingers? I hope my hand is clean and Therese doesn't get greasy, food residue on her new camera.

I'm considering pulling my hand away, but it's just so snug under hers. Not that I entirely mind. The caring touch of another is one of the greatest comforts to me and even though I should pull away, I really just don't want to.

I glance down at Therese's hand atop mine, smiling. I feel so… happy? She looks very happy also, sitting across from me, grinning, pleased with her gift to me and the photographs she has been taking thus far. It feels as though it's the first time she has been herself in ages.

Therese is the one though who catches herself, not me, as she extricates her hand from my own with a few reassuring pats, shying away from the contact. “Just - stay like that.”

My right hand rests beneath my chin, ever so slightly propping my head up, the other remains on the table, increasingly missing Therese's touch, as she snaps a few photos. Those fingers that only moments before grazed my hand are now pressing down on a button to capture my image. My eyes have difficulty focusing either on Therese and her eyes hidden behind the camera or the lens that seems to be honing in on me. 

I don’t like having my photo taken. I never have. I’m always taller than the other ladies. Always worried that too much of stomach is bulging out as Harge likes to point out. I guess in this instance I’m lucky because I’m sitting and needn’t worry about anything from the waist down. My hair’s probably mussed up. And my lipstick must be smudged from eating. What if there are cracker crumbs in the corner of my mouth? Are there?

I can't possibly understand why she wants to take pictures of me. I've been driving a car for four hours, wearing sloppy traveling clothes, sitting in horrid fluorescent lighting, no doubt. In a diner. In Philadelphia of all places. On Christmas Day. Eating tomato soup and saltines and drinking copious amounts of coffee as our mid-day feast. What can she possibly see in me that I cannot? What is it about this moment that she wants to capture in black-and-white forever?

If this is what it feels like to graze her hand, how would it feel to put my arms around her? How would it feel to… I think I’m starting to wish I actually knew.

No, she's young. She’s thirteen years younger than me. Besides, she's not… like me. She's not interested. She's only my friend. We're friends. Yes, just friends. Nothing more. Two friends traveling together across the country on an aimless trip to somewhere looking for something. She has a boyfriend. We’ll be friends.

“Do you miss Richard?”

Why the hell did I say that? Where did that come from? Why did I think it was in the least all right for me to ask her about him? It’s not as though we haven’t talked about him, briefly, of course. It’s not as though I never met the boy.

“No. I haven’t thought about him all day. Or of home.”

To my astonishment, Therese isn’t in the least thrown off by my comment. She just smiles directly at me, glowing cheeks like the Santa face pinned to the back wall of the diner, albeit with far more adorable dimples.

But then the melancholy sets in. It overtakes any ounce of happiness I exuded, and sadly Therese notices it and turns her on edge as well. I think of Rindy, of Harge’s bumbling antics, of getting away from all the troubles of a failed marriage and an ill-conceived affair with my best friend.

“Home.” I mutter and drift off into my own thoughts.


	11. Mirror, Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could you write about what Carol was thinking before she comes out of the bathroom in Waterloo?

It’s almost 1953.

I’m going to be another year older. Thirty-three years old in the summer. Hell, I don’t even feel thirty-two now. I still feel like that twenty-one year old who got married right after Pearl Harbor, yet there’s something not quite the same. In some ways, I don’t recognize the woman in the mirror. Where on earth did those past ten years go?

Aren’t one’s cells renewed every seven to ten years? Do I even resemble anything remotely close to what I had been ten years ago? Does anything of that shy, eager-to-please girl remain? Or is there nothing more than a cynical, worn-out woman looking back at me in the mirror? I look at my face, searching for any remnant of that girl underneath all this make-up.

Where’d I put that damned cold cream?

Once the makeup comes off, I can change out of this skirt and blouse. The thing I dislike most about road trips is having to wear the same outfit for hours on end while seated in a car. Sometimes, by the time Therese and I arrive at the hotel, I feel as though I am stuck to my clothes. Today is one of those days where it feels as though my sweater is fused to my skin.

I can’t wait to get out of these clothes.

The cold cream is in my bag with the rest of the makeup. Why am I suddenly so scatterbrained? It’s always in there. A few dabs here and there with the cream and the makeup is gone; next, all I can think about is taking off my skirt, flinging this sweater into oblivion, and hopping into that shower.

Without getting my hair wet, I manage a shower: steaming hot and relaxing. Just standing in there with the water trickling down my back as my hands are pressed against the tiles, my head avoiding the water above. The warmth and the pressure feel divine hitting all along my spine and my shoulders.

Just standing.

Perfect. I never want to leave this shower. Well, I do; perhaps I just want to stay in here for about an hour or so, feeling the beads of water, smelling delightfully clean soap, breathing in the sticky humid air which finally opens my sinuses.

“What I wouldn’t give to be in this shower with Therese,” I mutter out loud, repositioning my hands and my stance after making the water a tad bit hotter for the final moments in the shower. There’s no more denying any of this to myself. I want her. And I think she wants me even.

I’m going to be divorced. I’m going to be on my own, in that house, in the middle of the countryside. Abby will be close, nonetheless, it will be me. And hopefully Rindy at some point. Maybe then I can move on with my life. Figure out what I want for a change. Do things that I want to do for a change.

Perhaps I do finally recognize the woman in the mirror. It’s me, and I’ve been hiding from myself all this time. I back up as far as I can to see as much of my body as possible in the mirror. Looking at myself, I see reflected back, a nude blonde woman in a motel bathroom with nothing but a host of imperfections.

My eyes look weary. My hair all out-of-sorts from the shower. My stretchmarks across the tiniest protrusion of my stomach. My cramped neck and shoulders, exhausted from tensing as I hold the wheel. My breasts, one slightly smaller than the other, but noticeable when staring face-on in the mirror.

Would Therese like this? Would she like me? Does she like… this? I think so. I’ve seen her eyes follow me, not undressing me, but merely looking at the curves of my body and the way I move. I think she lets me walk in front of her sometimes on purpose. She’s already told me I look wonderful, and frankly, it melted my heart and made me so happy to actually hear her say that.

The bathroom quickly grows chilly so I reach for my pajamas. As I’m stepping into the silk pants, I rethink wearing them despite the cold. I’m craving the feeling of my naked body against the sheets. And Therese. The thought of that alone can keep me warm.

I want to go into 1953 knowing love, giving love. Maybe I can even be loved in return. I mean, Therese makes me feel wanted and loved. I just hope… She feels that way too. Perhaps she does.

Plus Therese is so beautiful. I’m beginning to wonder if anyone has ever told her that - and meant it. I even bet once all those clothes are shed and she’s laid out on her back, legs open for my tongue to lavish her, she’s simply stunning. Probably far more pleasing to the eye when naked than me and I again run through my list of imperfections as I soothe the last dollops of lotion on my hands and neck.

Besides, I tell myself as I pull the light cord above the mirror, I can always turn off the lights.


	12. Night Cheese

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carol needs some beautiful humor and sass in her life after all she went through. And Carol is also a secret night-cheese lover.

Carol can’t sleep. She often can’t fall asleep easily after a dinner party. Too much wine, too much rich food, too much chitter-chatter with everyone and activity for her brain to actually be at rest. She’s wide awake in bed, thinking about everything that happened. All of the friends and colleagues present for the evening, talking and milling around the perfectly appointed apartment on Madison Avenue. She’s the envy of many of them.

Therese, on the other hand, is completely worn out from the social interaction. Unlike her friends, Carol’s friends are a chatty bunch, droning on and on about the latest this or that, updates about the goings on in Westport, or news of the biggest trends in modern furniture. Therese couldn’t care less, she enjoys the party and keeps a low profile, not so that anyone knows who or what she is to Carol, but because it exhausts her. All she wants to do on a Friday night is curl up with Carol, cuddle on the couch, cuddle in bed, and fall asleep.

While Therese sleeps, Carol gets up and wanders into the kitchen. She’s feeling peckish and desperate for a snack. During the party, and as the gracious hostess, Carol was too preoccupied with her guests to really bother to eat anything, which really wasn’t in her best interest as she knew how hungry she could get in these situations. She’s exhausted, but hungry.

There are plenty of leftovers stored away in the kitchen. Extra canapes, extra slices of cold smoked salmon, an entire, untouched Key Lime Pie. But that isn’t on Carol’s mind. She’s more interested in the cheese board.

Camembert.

Port-Salut.

Roquefort.

Brie de Melun.

Comté.

Pulling the cheese board from the refrigerator, Carol checks the dish drainer for the cheese knives and slicers for her late-night cravings and returns to the kitchen table with a couple knives and a small plate. As soon as she sits, she remembers that she needs wine. Can’t have cheese without wine.

A hearty glass of red poured and it’s onto the assortment of cheeses. She cuts neat triangles from the wedges, careful not to alter the shape of the cheese on the board. Carol eats one kind, takes a swig of wine, and then moves onto another flavor and washes down with some more wine.

She’s more than happy, sitting at the table, happily singing to herself in the privacy of the kitchen at two in the morning, “Workin’ on my night cheese…”

Carol can’t see Therese standing behind her, sleepily rubbing her eyes and scratching her head, alerted by the bright kitchen lighting and pungent smell of the Roquefort. “I heard singing. About night cheese?”

Startled, eyes widening, Carol turns around to see Therese groggy, barely able to keep her bathrobe shut, squinting to look at Carol with a slice of cheese in one hand a glass of wine in the other. 

“It’s nothing, angel, just go back to sleep.”

Therese gives Carol a kiss on the forehead, mutters “You’re weird sometimes, but I love you,” turns around, returns to the bedroom, and falls asleep.

Carol stays up a little while longer and works on her night cheese.


	13. Four for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would it be terrible of me to suggest something from Carol's POV that's really super-smutty, but also really fluffy?
> 
> Prompt! Because Carol smut. Carol challenges herself to see how many times she can make Therese come in one night.

“Did you see that?” Therese exclaims, pointing to the balcony window. “It was just sunny, now it’s cloudy and it’s snowing.” I angle my head to look outside and towards the now grey skies, shaking my head in equal disbelief at the drastic change in weather.

“I did,” I agree without too much change to the timber of my voice to mask my excitement, “and that is all the more reason I think you and me ought to stay in this weekend.”

I get up from the sofa and walk to the window. My robe falls open, splaying out on each side to show the flannel pajamas I’m wearing beneath, instantly catching Therese’s eye. Therese looks me up and down as she notices the unbrushed hair and makeup-free expressions of my face. Instead of breakfast in the dining room or the small table in the kitchen, we opt for the living room so we can easily look out at the bright sky; however, all that changes the moment I notice the wide snowflakes falling and gathering on the café table out on the balcony.

Therese takes a quick look out the window again and swiftly nods her head, “Should I go get the blankets?”

“Oooh, yes.” I coo as Therese takes off to one of the back bedrooms. I clear a wide space by the fireplace and then set out to make a fire. By the time Therese returns to the living room, I’m blowing on the kindling to get the fire fully going. Her arms are filled with blankets and pillows which she tosses down onto the spot I have cleared.

The fire begins to heat the space as Therese and I set up the blankets and pillows. As the coldest of the two, Therese makes a spot closest to the fireplace while I adjust my pillow and bedding behind Therese.

“You good?” I ask, sitting on the blankets with my legs crossed as Therese finishes fluffing her bedding. Once Therese is done, she gathers the tray with what remains of our breakfasts, and places it by me so we can finish eating. I only have a couple bites of chocolate chip pancakes left while Therese has an entire small bowl of fruit to finish up. Once I take the last bite, the plate returns to the tray, I take my glass of water and place it by the fireplace, and then I settle in to do one of my favorite weekend activities:

I get to plan how I’m going to make Therese come multiple times.

I know perfectly well how; it’s more, at this point, a matter of how many. I might be miserably bloated, craving as much chocolate as possible (thus the pancakes this morning), a bit more tired than usual, and be, to put it delicately, out of commission for the week, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting Therese to feel fantastic when I certainly can’t.

Therese pops a grape into her mouth and chews while observing the fireplace cackle, not noticing me take off my robe. I keep watching her eat, making sure she has something, but not too much. After a few more pieces of fruit and licking the juice from the strawberries off her fingers, Therese has the bowl taken away from her and it begins.

 **№ 1**  
I have to get her wet. Really, really wet for this to work for more than three orgasms. That’s my goal. It shouldn’t be too much of an issue, especially when sometimes all it takes is the way I rake a fingernail against the side of her neck, down her arm, and then right between her thighs. That typically does it because by the time I get to the inside of her thigh, my fingers come up already damp and ready.

The first orgasm is the most anticipated, and the most important. It’s going to take the most to build and tease, and build and tease, until she is desperately gripping at my head and hair. I go with my mouth for the first so she can ease into the sensations and have an intense finish.

She’s going to think she can rest once done, but I can tell how she is craving release while at my mercy.

 **№ 2**  
There is something about actually holding Therese as she comes, about her writhing in my arms that I love. Sometimes, I never want to let her go when we are home by ourselves. Watching her move because of something I do to her body, that is beautiful.

I think about using my hands rather than my mouth, just so I can hold her. There’s sweat on her that is cooling, making her shake. I pull a blanket around her shoulders, she might feel a touch of heat from it, but she’ll thank me when that sweat cools and clings to her skin.

My hand drifts down, through curls, through wetness, teasingly over her a few times for emphasis, curling downward to enter her. She’s so small beneath me. When I enter her, she’s so open and burning hot from her orgasm. It’s incredible. Tightening around my fingers as best she can and gripping me with her arms, Therese pauses, playfully kissing my nose, “Don’t move for a sec.” There are still tremors, still grasping at my closeness.

 **№ 3**  
“I don’t think I can,” she pants as I pull her on top of me. I’m kissing the side of her neck and the top of her shoulders as Therese recovers.

Between her legs is so warm and so wet as she straddles my clothed thigh. I can feel the way her arousal seeps into the fabric and slowly cools against my skin. I don’t think she means to, but Therese is subconsciously rubbing against my leg and looking for that next release. We kiss and I tease, nibbling the patches of skin in the vicinity of my lips.

Therese moves up my body, so that her breasts are level with my face and I can take a nipple between my teeth. My hands remain tightly around her back, keeping her positioned against me as she grinds down looking for some precious friction. She’s not necessarily going to find it with the fabric on my flannel pants, but she certainly seems to figure out something.

I feel her hand travel down between us and try to press against me for a moment, but then remember where the actual destination needs to be. “Sorry,” she breathlessly manages to say.

I cease kissing her breasts and face her, so beautifully straddled across me. “Don’t apologize.” I say in her ear, “Make yourself come for me.”

That’s when the slow-moving hand between us picks up its pace and starts to move in circles around and around and around. She knows just the right spot to flick and just the right pace and pressure she needs to apply after two orgasms. At one point, moments before she comes, fingers go inside and she rides them all the while astride my lap.

I have never seen anything more beautiful than Therese coming undone by her own hand. I whisper it into her ear and she suddenly stops.

When she stills in my arms, then shakes, and then stills again, I brush the hair back from her face and kiss wherever I can. She’s sweating, trying her best to catch her breath. I pass her the glass of water I brought from the kitchen earlier and encourage her to have a gulp or two.

 **№ 4**  
“I don’t think I can,” she pants again, “no, really, Carol.” Therese makes a futile attempt at moving her legs, finding that they have basically turned to jelly and she cannot get any kind of footing without tremendous difficulty.

The poor thing.

“Just one more, please?” I plead, kissing downward from her bellybutton. I lift her slight legs and place each one over a shoulder for balance. The moment I do that, I am right back where I started. Only this time, Therese is a lot wetter, much more desperate, and a whole lot more sensitive.

She smells divine, better than any bottle of expensive imported perfume I’ve ever owned.

She feels so soft and so warm against my lips and my tongue.

She tastes even better, and let’s face it: I don’t want to take my mouth off her.

* * *

Therese is still, she’s holding me, I’m holding her, we start to fall back asleep. My jaw pleasantly aches. Therese’s fingers are pruny as though she’s been in the bath all morning. The space where we lay smells entirely of sex. Either that or my mouth is covered with her arousal and I can’t possibly smell anything else.

Perfect morning, I think as we curl into the blankets and sleep in front of the fireplace.


	14. Sneezy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt because you planted the seed for it in the last one: Therese gets to see what Carol is like when she's sick and has to call Abby (who probably laughs for two minutes straight before being helpful) for advice.

_“Wait until you see me when I’m not feeling well.” Carol sighs as she walks into the bedroom._

_“What did you say?” Therese looked at the reflection into the bedroom from the bathroom mirror to look at Carol._

_“Oh, nothing… ”_

* * *

A week later, the tables have turned, and Therese has no idea what to do. She has some idea, but worries that she won’t live up to the level of comfort that Carol provides to her in these situations. She’s only ever taken care of herself when ill, and poorly at that, never thinking of booking a doctor’s visit, taking medicine, or doing anything aside from curling into a ball and sleeping for a few days. That’s what she would do in that situation.

If it’s Therese who’s sick, once she has actually accepted the fact that she is sick and that she doesn’t have to go it alone anymore, she has learned it’s nothing but care and love from Carol. Therese is determined to provide the same level of attention to her that she had earlier; however, she feels like she has no clue what’s she’s doing.

Carol is the complete opposite. She wants the attention when she is sick, an easy means of distraction to take her mind off how poorly she feels. She wants books, books, and more books, and Therese’s companionship by her side when she’s constantly sneezing and, what sounds like, coughing up a lung. Two doctor’s visits, three bottles of various medicines, little to no sleep is Carol’s idea of getting well.

But Therese doesn’t mind a bit.

* * *

“Carol has a cold.” Therese casually mentions over the phone after a few days of dealing with a very sneezy Carol.

She can hear a spoon fall into the sink in the background. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I mean, she’s - “

“Therese. Are you sure?”

“Well, yeah, she’s coughing and sneezing and - “

“I’ll be right over.” The phone goes dead and Therese is standing in the kitchen, phone in head, looking off in the distance with a blank stare.

What was that about?

* * *

The doorbell frantically rings, more than usual, to announce Abby’s arrival. Therese rushes to the door to find Abby waiting with her trademark arms full of bags and a bottle of vodka.

“Oh, Therese, it’ll be all right.” Abby hugs her and Therese just stands with bug eyes at the woman in the scarf tightly holding onto her. Therese is still utterly clueless.

“Abby, what’s all this about?”

“Carol’s sick.”

Therese, dumbfounded, looks at Abby with a shake of the head, still not getting any actual answers. “I know.”

Abby pauses once she realizes Therese Belivet has never experienced the Cold or Flu of Carol Aird. With an arm around her shoulder, Abby walks with Therese into the living room and they sit on the sofa.

“Carol does not do sick well - “

“She's been okay so far.”

Abby shakes her head, closing her eyes as her head moves. “No, no, no. She needs a lot. She needs tons of care and looking after.”

Therese is still confused. “That’s what I’ve been doing. There’s nothing different about any of this than normal with her.”

That’s when Abby realizes the difference between the two of them. While she was annoyed with the constant fetching of books, drinks, lunches, medicine, or any little thing Carol needed, Therese doesn’t care. Moreover, Therese likes being able to take care of Carol. Abby experienced a bother and thought she knew how to handle it; Therese just sees the love she feels for Carol and reacts upon it.

“Actually, you got this, kid.”

“Quit calling me ‘kid.’” Therese sighs.

* * *

Before leaving, Abby gives her a hug and promises she’ll call to check in later. As soon as the front door is shut, Therese wanders into the bedroom, “Who was that?” Carol asks once Therese comes to sit by the edge of the bed.

Therese reaches to the bedside table for the glass of water and hands it to Carol, anticipating her need for a drink. “Just Abby, checking in. I told her you're sleeping.”

Half the glass of water down, Carol passes it back to Therese who finishes the rest. removes her shoes, sweater, and skirt, and climbs into bed beside Carol. The jostling of the bed stirs Carol from her sleep and she turns to face Therese, immediately coughing against her arm and heavily breathing.

“Hello, sweetness.” Therese can’t help but think she sounds adorable when her nose is stuffed up and constantly sniffling. Her voice is deeper, more throaty and coarse.

“Hi, Carol.” Therese says, scooting herself closer to give Carol a kiss on the cheek. “How are you feeling?”

Sneeze.

“Better.”

“Better?”

Sneeze. “Yeah, getting there, I suppose.”

“Are you hungry? Would you like some soup? Some water?”

Carol pauses and brushes a strand of hair from her eyes. “I would much rather have you cuddle me right now.”

Therese smiles and gives her another kiss on the cheek. “Let me put on my pajamas.” It’s late enough in the afternoon that no one should be stopping by the apartment and Therese definitely doesn’t need to go out again for the day. Pajamas at five in the afternoon are no big deal, she tells herself. Therese knows she’s not going to get sick again and willingly obliges Carol by changing and crawling in next to her.

With an arm wrapped around Carol’s waist, Therese holds her, albeit not too tightly so when she sneezes, Therese doesn’t jerk back and forth with her. There’s nothing wrong with Carol when she’s not feeling well, Therese rationalizes, she’s just as cranky and miserable as anyone else in the same situation. In fact, she’s better behaved than Therese had been the week before...


	15. Starving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since there was a prompt about Carol coming out of bathrooms, can you write Therese's POV ("I'm suddenly starving" srsly) when Carol came out of the bathroom all wet and steamy and ---

The fibers from pressing Carol’s sweater tickle the inside of my nose. I think I pressed it too closely and breathed in too deeply. It’s all I can smell right now despite the insistent odor of Carol’s bath soap wafting into the bedroom as I knock on the door.

My eyes. My innocent eyes.

I can’t focus. I can’t help but look away. Her hair is wet. Her skin is damp. Her robe looks like it’s practically falling off her shoulder. I suppose I could point it out to her. I keep looking down and then back up again. Repeatedly.

I don’t know where to look.

Maybe I should focus on the grout in the background. Yes, those tiles look like they could use a fresh caulking, they’re looking a little dark from here.

You’re thinking about caulking when Carol is standing in front of you dripping wet from the shower in nothing more than a robe?

What is the hell is wrong with you?

Oh, no, my eyes are looking back at her again. Stop, Therese.

“Everything all right?” Carol asks, looking me straight in the eye and I need to draw my attention back up toward her.

Does her skin have to also be so shiny and wet? Does she not know how to dry off after a shower? Did she even try to dry off at all? Does she know that a bathrobe is just a robe and does not actually do the effort of drying you off? All I can do in inwardly groan and really, really try my best not to stare down the v of her robe.

Ooooh, I like that robe. It looks really nice on her, especially against that wet blonde hair of hers. It’s red, it’s plaid, it makes a perfect v angling down towards her breasts -

Stop. Stop. Stop. Just stop thinking about her like that. And stop looking. Bad enough I made her blush at lunch yesterday when I touched her hand. Her hand. I touched her hand and she got all sly with me for the rest of the day.

Maybe I’m just hungry. Maybe I need something to eat to clear my head about all this. Yes, I must be light-headed and in need of something substantial this morning.

“Yeah - I’m just - suddenly starving.” I spurt out in patches. I can’t even use a coherent sentence.

What the hell was that, Therese? Way to go. And can I please stop trying to look down her robe? The woman is carrying a pearl-handled gun in her suitcase and you’re looking as far down her robe as you can possibly see so early in the morning? What a way to start the day.

No, she’s older than me. She’s thirteen years older than me. Besides, she’s not… like that. She has a daughter. She’s only my friend. We’re friends. Yes, just friends. Nothing more. Two friends traveling together across the country on an aimless trip to somewhere looking for something. She was married for ten years. We’ll be friends, yes, just friends.

Yes, but do my friends look like this when they are partially clothed? Stop looking, stop looking, stop looking. Oh, boy, have I got it bad.

Maybe there is no point to all this. Perhaps I should just let it all go. If my eyes fall to that opening in her robe, so be it.

“I won’t be a minute.”

Honestly, when we get to Ohio, no more of these separate hotel rooms.


	16. Every Night

I come home every night without her.

As we inch towards spring, it stays brighter longer, but it’s still so dark whenever I seem to get home from the doctor’s or visiting friends. It’s not pitch black by the time I pull into the driveway; however, there’s always this gloomy, looming darkness that threatens the afternoon. Always the threat of rain, or if it’s actually cold enough, snow. Only a month or so left to winter and then it’ll be spring. Maybe then it will actually feel be sunnier, clearer, no more snowfall warnings. Less, anyways.

When I walk up the driveway, it’s getting dark and I always chide myself on not remembering to turn on one of the entry lights and leave it on so I don’t have to rifle through my purse for the right key. I’ve gotten used to having to find it in a pinch, through feeling the shape against my fingers and searching for the tell-tale raises in the metal. The keys and my purse go on a table in the foyer, always in the same place so I don’t forget where I put them. I’m apt to do that with my current mental state. If I don’t go with consistent good habits, I’m liable to completely forget where I place them.

No one else is in the house. It’s just me and my thoughts and my discarded heels now sitting at the bottom of the staircase waiting for me to bring them up when I go to bed. Rindy’s not here to come rushing in, giving me a hug and a kiss as soon as I walk in the door. I don’t get to hear about what she did that day. 

Even Florence isn’t here to say there is a drink ready, or the mail is on the credenza, or that dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. 

No one.

There’s no dinner ready when I get home. Not that I entirely relied upon Florence, but I’m not even home during the late afternoon to get anything started. It doesn’t bother me much as I’m typically not hungry enough to eat anything at night any longer. I get hungry for a snack when it’s late, but I’m not in the mood anymore for a three-course meal. 

I’ll have a tea or a tumbler of rye though. Once I’m inside, once a light is on, once the purse is on the table, once the heels are removed, I have a drink. A quiet drink while sitting on the couch. Consistent good habits, I keep telling myself. 

The house is so quiet. I wander from room to room, looking around. Everything is as neat as a pin, exactly as Florence last left it in January. You would never guess from the tidy nature of this house that a young child ever lived here. There’s been hardly any effort on my part in regards to cleaning the place, just the occasional dusting here or there, specifically in the places where I don’t often go. 

On the living room floor, there are still the occasional pine needles stuck to the edges of the rug. I don’t want to pick them up, as far as I’m concerned they can stay there. Some nitwit, probably Harge, took the liberty of removing the nicely decorated Christmas tree and boxing up all of the ornaments and lights while Therese and I were gone. Some Christmas spirit. 

I immediately go to the cigarette box, wondering if there’s still anything left in there. The day couldn’t get any better because there are still five cigarettes waiting for me in there, along with a lighter next to the box. I light one and continue aimlessly walking from room to room.

The keyboard of the piano is covered in the adjacent room. Harge never touched it, Rindy never went near it unless I sat there with her. Therese was the last person to play that piano. Sitting on that bench, wearing that plaid jumper, so startled by me touching her shoulders that day.

I can’t look at the piano anymore without thinking of her, without imagining her sitting there playing music for me from memory.

I wander into the kitchen, and immediately chuckle to myself. That damn sink is dripping. Again. Causing a small pool of water on the floor. Looks like I will need to get an actual plumber in here. Wait, no, I can do it myself. I take another drag of my cigarette before reaching for the box of tools still by the sink on the counter. Of course Harge didn’t put it away. Typical of him. Takes something out, never puts it away.

I take out a wrench, open the lower cabinet doors to the sink, and check for the leak. A final puff of my cigarette and I toss the end into the sink as I think how I’m going to fix this. Taking a dish towel, I soak up the water gathered on the floor then toss it on the counter when I’m done. I sit myself down on the tile floor and pivot myself inside the sink cabinet to get a better look. The light might be dim, but it’s easy to see where the leak is coming from. I wish I could have worn slacks today, but the doctor probably would not have taken too kindly to that in my current "state.” 

A wrench, a new washer, and a tight grip is all the sink needed. What was so difficult about that, Harge?

When I stand up, I use the wet towel to wipe my hands as I continue my walk through into the dining room. Empty chairs, unlit candles, placemats in a neat pile at the head of the table. This whole place makes me feel as though I am at a museum, like this must be a prime example of a 1953 dining room set. It’s not interesting, it’s not holding my interest, it’s just sad.

I’m done downstairs. The wet towel in one hand and my discarded heels from earlier in the other, I walk upstairs to my bedroom. I could go peek inside Harge’s room, but for whatever reason it still smells like his musky cologne and soap, despite his not living here in months. Why won’t the smell leave? I don’t want it to smell like him anymore. I don’t want any further trace of his presence when I open this door. Perhaps in the spring, when the air is warmer and the breeze better, I can leave the windows wide open for days on end to air it out.

I could also go look in Rindy’s room, but I don’t do that either. I already know what I will find there: her table of drawings and mismatched crayons, her dolls on a bedside shelf, her little sweaters and skirts. My hand right by the doorknob to her room, but there is no way I can actually make myself turn it to open. All I can do is turn around and head to my room.

My room. My room is cold and dark. I remedy this by turning on a light and turning the knob on the radiator. As it heats, I put away the shoes, toss the towel into the laundry hamper, then realize that tomorrow when I get home, I will need to do a load of laundry. After the shuffling of the laundry and putting away the shoes, my space is once again completely silent. 

I find my pajamas, I find my robe, I find my slippers and wash up for bed. When I look at the clock it’s barely eight. It’s slowly getting warmer in the bedroom and bathroom, so I opt for a bath. There’s nothing else to do. Music bores me. Television bores me. I suppose a bath with a book might be the next best thing in this situation. 

Stillness. The bathroom is still once I am in the tub and the water is no longer running. I gently get in without getting my hands wet so that I can pick up my book without ruining the paper cover. And I read. I sit in the quiet bathtub and read without muttering a word. That’s when my mind starts to drift and the sadness creeps in.

Once I’m done in the bath, I pull on my robe and forget the pajamas, strolling into the bedroom lit by one bedside lamp, and sit on the edge of the bed contemplating what to do next. 

The phone rings.

Who phones after nine o’clock?

One guess.

I pick up without saying a word, but she hesitantly speaks. Therese says my name and it’s the first time I have heard her say it since she was gasping it that last night in Chicago. She sounds so small, so desperate. 

I can’t: I said no contact. So I hang up. Reluctantly hang up. I could have said a thousand things, but I said I wouldn’t. I’m in my self-imposed prison. I’m doing this for her. 

So every night I come home, I miss Rindy.

Every night I get into bed, I miss Therese.

Either way, I come home every night without her.


	17. Mop, Mop, Mop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A ficlet on how Therese gets Carol to cut the cleaning lady loose but feels bad she's losing her job so she makes Carol give the cleaning lady a nice, hefty thanks for all your hard work severance pay. "Darling, I love you dearly, but that's a bit much?" Please and thank you?
> 
> For time reference, this would be at the end of Chapter Two of _Built for Two_ , taking place on Sunday morning.

“The cleaning lady is coming by on Tues - “

“No.”

“ - day.”

“No.”

‘No?”

“I said no.” Therese propped up her elbow and rested her curled hand against her temple. “We don’t need a housekeeper, Carol.”

“But - “

“No.” she firmly asserts.

Carol pulled the sagging covers up around Therese’s shoulders and scooted herself closer before tucking them firmly around herself to keep out the mid-April dampness. When they arrived at Therese’s apartment the day before, they neglected to turn on the heat and instead huddled together in her rickety twin bed, wrapped around one another.

“I don’t want you to have to concern yourself with washing clothes or changing linens.”

Therese loudly sighed into Carol’s arms, cuddled into the warmth of the blankets. “I like to concern myself with washing clothes and changing linens.” She didn’t make eye contact with her as she said it, but resigned herself to the fact that Carol could be incredibly stubborn and maybe it wasn’t worth the argument. They had only gotten back together two nights before, why should she push her luck. Perhaps it would have been best to simply remain quiet. 

“You have work though, I have work… “

Therese lifted her head up. “So? That makes no difference.”

“Yes, but there’s so much with the bedrooms, bathrooms, the dining room… “

“Over there, we sleep in one bedroom, use one bathroom, Carol, and if this weekend is any indication of our future, we don’t even need a dining room.”

Carol squinted at her, then pecked a quick kiss to Therese’s nose. “Smart aleck.”

Therese kissed her back and settled against her once more. “It’s just,” she began and then nuzzled into Carol’s neck, “it’s just, it makes me feel useful.”

“You are useful, dearest.”

“Like I’m contributing.”

“You are contributing.”

Therese shook her head, however kissed Carol’s neck in the spot where she had nuzzled moments earlier. “You know what I mean.”

“What would you like me to do? Your call.”

Therese paused, knowing that letting go of the housekeeper meant the housekeeper would be without a job, but it was so unnecessary with just the two of them in the apartment she tried to rationalize with herself. She probably had nothing to do anyhow since Carol was already so neat and tidy to start. “Let her go, but at least give a good reference or strongly suggest her to one of your friends at the shop.”

“I’ll do it for you.” Carol agreed. 

Therese smiled at yet another of her small victories over the past couple of days. “It’s not even six o’clock, Carol, let’s go back to sleep.” Carol closed her arms around Therese again and they both fell back asleep to the morning rain.


	18. Coffee?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Carol's thoughts when she wakes up after their first night in Waterloo, preparing a coffee and looking through the window. (I imagine something like indescribable luck and (unfortunately) regrets for what Therese might be going to face because of Carol's family background)

Thursday, January 1st, 1953  
7:40 a.m.

Coffee. I want coffee. Real coffee. Slightly nutty and mellow in taste. So smooth I can drink cup after cup while I get lost in my thoughts. Does no one in the Midwest know how to make a decent cup of coffee?

Maybe it’s the water back East. Yes, I remember hearing something once about the chemical composite of New York water being unique. Magnesium? Calcium?I don’t know, I never understood chemistry to be honest. Just there is something about the water that makes food taste better.

Forget the coffee, perhaps I should stick with tea. There was an electric kettle on the shelf in the closet that probably needed a thorough cleaning; nothing some boiling water couldn’t handle, I imagine. I rummage through the basket filled with leftover sandwiches, unopened beers, and orange and apples that Therese picked out. At the bottom of the basket, I find a couple sachets of English Breakfast Tea. I can probably brew this strong enough without it coming out that badly. It’ll still be far better than the coffee in the breakfast room.

Plus I don’t need to get dressed or leave the room. Sold.

I look over at Therese sleeping to my right: she’s sound asleep, arm outstretched underneath my neck, making for a delightful pillow. Her hair is tousled, bangs in complete disarray, strands standing on end here and there. She’s practically smiling in her sleep, serenely facing me as she rests. That smiling is contagious as I look at her and can’t help but turn up the corners of my mouth to smile at her, even though Therese can’t see me. 

Very gently, I remove myself from the bed and look around for my robe. Where did Therese toss it again? I walk around the bed, then around the untouched bed and find it rolled up on the floor against the wall. How on earth...

It’s too cold for just the robe; the room hasn’t had daylight to try and warm the space even a little. I open my suitcase to find a clean slip, or at least one I haven’t worn for more than two days in a row. I throw it on before I put on my robe, hoping it’ll keep me just warm enough until I can get back in bed with Therese.

I pull the electric kettle from the closet, then go into the bathroom to draw some fresh water from the tap. I only get enough for myself, figuring Therese can have a fresh cup later if she wants it. There’s a socket over by the window, so I plug it in over there and wait for the water to boil. 

While I wait, I watch Therese sleep. How did we ever manage a night in a twin bed together? Thank God it’s winter and we’re not sweating beside one another all curled up here. I told myself, never again will I sleep with someone in a twin bed as long as I live. I’m too damn tall to share such a tiny sleeping space with another. The muscles of my legs are twinging from keeping myself from falling onto the floor most of the night; at least I think the soreness in my legs is from that. The ache between my thighs though, I am relatively certain I know how that came about, even though I haven’t used those muscles in ages.

The unmistakable sound of the water rolling to an almost boil grabs my attention. I open the sachet, place the teabag in, and pour in the near-boiling water. Now I wait again for it to steep. If I want it as strong as I can get it, I’ll let it sit, but I have to keep reminding myself not to be impatient. When was the last time I was so desperate for tea?

There is a small grumbling from the bed. Therese stirs, moving the blankets around, trying to get comfortable on a pile of pillows. No wonder I was using her arm as a pillow last night, I realize as I look over at her. The blankets have fallen to her waist, exposing her back and her breasts to the cool air. There are identifiably a couple marks on her from where I may have been a bit hasty in nibbling at her skin, making her writhe with pleasure in my arms. I feel a strange sense of pride in being the cause of those marks

I walk over to the bed to pull up the sheet and blanket, nestling it just under her arm. It’s impossible for me to resist watching over her like this, making sure she is relaxed, warm, and loved. Before stepping back to my tea, I kiss her forehead and smooth her unruly hair.

Bag discarded, I check the basket again for a sugar packet, just enough of something to sweeten my drink that is going to be too hot to drink for another five or ten minutes. I go over to the window to check what the weather is like. If it’s snowing or raining, perhaps we’ll stay another night and just remain in bed all day. There’s some frost on the ground, it’s rather grey. Not the best weather for driving because the roads might be slippery, but it’s not the worst we’ve encountered.

I blow on my cup of tea, determined to have it have cooled down enough to drink, but it’s still too warm. Looking out the window, I see other guests - specifically couples - load their cars to depart. I wonder how many of them shared a New Year’s Eve like we did. 

“What town is this again?” Therese props her elbow on the bed, resting her head in her hand. 

“This?” It takes a moment for me to even register the question, perhaps because it wasn’t the first thing I expected to hear fall from her lips so early in the morning. “Waterloo. Isn’t that awful?” I anxiously laugh as she throws her head back down onto the pillows. 

Therese pats the small bed, tempting me to join her back in the same spot where we made love earlier. Dimming the room from the grey morning light, I let go of the curtain, place my mug on the table, and untie my robe in front of her as I had the night before. As I move toward the bed, shimmying out of my slip, Therese pulls back the covers to welcome me in her arms.

Forget the tea.


	19. I like to see it lap the Miles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite parts of Carol was at the very beginning in the department store. You see Carol over by the train set fidgeting with her gloves- showing obvious signs of anxiousness. Then she sees Therese and it's like time suddenly stops. She just looks so mesmerized and I thought it was the cutest thing ever. If by chance you're facing a case of writers block- may I suggest writing something about that scene from Carol's POV?

Shopping used to be a lively affair. It used to be such an escape to put on my favorite dress, grab my handbag, and take the train into the city until the early afternoon. Make a few purchases, go to a museum or gallery, have a quiet lunch at the automat, or occasionally with a friend. For a few hours, I could completely get away from my troubles.

Now, as a married woman and mother, shopping is a chore. Harge wants new white collared shirts. Rindy needs socks. Florence suggests a new tablecloth, placemats, napkins, etc. for next month’s dinner party with the Harrisons. 

I don’t have the time to take the train in anymore. That sense of relaxing on the train, letting someone else preoccupy himself with getting me from Point A to Point B, is long gone. All I want to do now is drive to the city (all while avoiding rush hour), get what I need, and head home to hopefully spend some time with Rindy before Florence puts her down for a nap and before her father gets home to monopolize her time. I don’t have the time to wait for a train and a perfectly aligned schedule when I need to be home just to spend some time with my daughter. 

Shopping still affords me a means of escape, a period of time where I can get into the car, drive off to the city, and be away long enough to not have anyone be able to reach me for hours. My own cocoon of time and space.

Away from Harge and his persistent judging.

Away from Florence and her constant prying.

Away from the occasional nosy neighbor who would come calling at the most inopportune of times.

Today, however, I’m on a mission: Rindy’s Christmas present.

I have been putting off coming into the city for weeks, not in the mood to deal with the throngs of shoppers and over-excited children in the toy department of Frankenberg’s. It doesn’t even register in my mind that the store might be out of stock regarding the item I’m looking for. Not as though I will go to yet another store looking for Rindy’s present, a certain “Bright Betsy” doll. She’s still young enough that no matter what doll she gets, she will love it to pieces and play with it every day.

No idea really why I’ve always gone to Frankenberg’s when there are plenty of other quality stores in Manhattan. Matter of habit from before the war, I suppose; kind of difficult for me to change up my tendencies after so many years of loyal patronage. They’ve never botched any of my orders at least.

I make a concerted effort to not wander around the store, heading straight for the elevators as soon as the front doors open. The first carriage is completely full heading upstairs, crammed with fellow stressed out adults looking for that last-minute gift. I look over to the other five elevators, people milling around the doors waiting for the next one. I patiently wait, figuring I made good time getting into the city this morning and might even be able to be home before eleven. An elevator to my left dings, signaling availability, and I promptly make my way to the door to be the first inside. Eight other people, including a woman with an impressive stroller, file in after me, relinquishing me to the back of the carriage.

“Seventh floor, please.” I politely ask from the back. A gentleman up front waves his hand to acknowledge he pushed the button. “Thank you.”

The elevator stops at every floor and upon arrival at every floor, a new arrangement of people inside the carriage shuffling for a spot. My toe stubs on the wheel of the stroller and I scrunch up my nose to not make too much of a fuss about the momentary pain, cursing my big feet for getting in the way. The ventilation is poor and even on this short journey upward, the air grows stale and warm. Wearing my fur might not have been the best choice of outerwear; I’m too hot and irritable for this today.

When we reach the seventh floor, most of the elevator empties to let me out, and I have to profusely thank everyone for being so kind to get out of the way. How troublesome. Maybe I will take the stairs down when I leave. As I walk out the elevator door, I make a right for the sales floor and stand off to the side for a moment to recover from the hellish elevator ordeal.

I scan the room, not having been to the toy department since Frankenberg’s put up their Christmas decorations. How on earth do these unfortunate employees possibly stand for eight or more hours a day in this windowless room with horrid fluorescent lighting? I could never do this in a million years; at least at the furniture shop we had, well, ample chairs and seating. Then I suppose the unsteady stream of customers also meant we weren’t necessarily up and about either.

It’s still far too warm from that claustrophobic elevator ride and I decide to remove my long leather gloves. Before I do anything else, a sputtering sound captures my attention. There is a delightfully detailed train set in a display behind a wood and glass open-topped casing. Snowy trees, attentive railway workers, patient travelers. All perfect. Nothing but perfect little people just waiting to fulfill their obligations and reach their destinations. I can’t resist a smile while I loosen the scarf around my neck and admire the silver and red train scurrying around the track. I’d have liked a train set when I was little. My father would have gotten one for me, my mother wouldn’t have approved, and my sister would have probably broken that one critical piece that makes the whole thing operate. 

Looking at the model set now just reminds me of when I used to take the train into the city, harkening back to those days without responsibilities or cares when I didn’t have to do a lot of things. I nervously fiddle with my gloves as I watch the train rush along the track, thinking about Christmas, being alone, what happens next with Harge, and my future. No plans, I tell myself. 

I stare at the train set, not blinking for a good ten seconds as peer off at the corner of the display, trying to remember that Emily Dickinson poem about the train lapping the miles. I shift my weight as I stand, leaning more toward the case as I think about it. How did that go... ?

There’s suddenly a lack of sound from the display, no more electric rushing noise. I snap out of my trance to look at the train to see that it’s stopped moving. As I try to walk away, my coat snags on the toggle and I’m caught for everyone to see. This is why shopping makes me nervous: I’m always knocking into something or disrupting something. Perhaps it’s the coat, it seems to draw out that sort of unnecessary attention. I do a hasty survey of the floor, hoping no one has seen me standing here caught on the toggle.

Why is she looking at me? That girl by the doll counter in the Santa hat and jumper, she’s staring. We make brief eye contact, and she naturally smiles back at me. 

She’s actually grinning at me. She’s perfectly lovely in that festive cap, and I'm, for lack of better words, quite smitten. I start to return the smile when a woman holding a little girl stands directly in front of her, blocking my line of sight. There’s a commotion down the corridor as three rambunctious boys make a beeline for the train display, speeding up despite their mother’s protests, and I manage to unsnare my coat from the toggle and move away from the display before they can smash into me.

Maybe later I can catch her eye again. Besides, I do need help finding that doll for Rindy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emily Dickinson: [“I like to see it lap the Miles”](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_like_to_see_it_lap_the_Miles)


	20. The World We Seize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooooooooo, I was wondering if I may extend the Waterloo prompt to when Carol was at the counter checking out? Like the microsecond before everything went to hell. I mean damn. You can see Carol smiling dreamily through the window before the grumpy lady gave her her telegram and as small a moment that was, I felt like I was right there in her happy bubble with her.

Thursday, January 1st, 1953  
10:15 a.m.

It’s now 1953.

I’m going to be another year older, but for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t phase me in the slightest. Yesterday was dismal, this morning began grey and uncertain, but now, there’s a hint of sunshine and the clouds are disappearing.

There truly is a silver lining.

It takes all my strength to finally get out of bed for a second time this morning. It isn’t until Therese reaches down to gently tug at my hair, somehow managing to squeak out that check-out is in twenty minutes, that I force myself to actually get up.

Mind you, not before I finish with Therese.

We could just remain in Waterloo for another night, but why stay at this little motel when we could probably make headway westward and reach Sioux Falls in about seven hours? We could possibly find ever finer accommodations, perhaps even spring for a room with a double bed. Wouldn’t that be a treat? Imagine waking up tomorrow morning without the leg cramps, all stretched out on the bed with Therese relaxing in the crook of my arm, my arms wrapped around her shoulders. 

I'd have more room to work with, for starters.

The thought of waking up like that tomorrow morning makes me speed up getting ready to leave so we can make Sioux Falls as soon as possible. Instead of neatly packing my clothes into my suitcase, I haphazardly roll everything up and place it on top of the already folded items, shutting the lid and pressing down on the clasps. Rumpled into a ball between the bed are Therese’s pyjamas. I have no idea how they got there since she didn’t have them on when we went to bed last night. Perhaps she had taken them out much earlier to put on after her shower, but in light of all that happened, she had no need for them after midnight. While I disregard the care of my own clothes, I take a moment to fold Therese’s polka dot pyjamas and place them inside her new suitcase. 

Hopefully, she won’t be needing them again tonight.

Therese is in the shower, the steam from the hot water sneaking out from the ajar door. Before yesterday, that door would've been shut and going into the bathroom while she's in there strictly off-limits.

Good for me it's not yesterday.

I open the door wider and see Therese moving around in the shower, making the shower curtain rustle. I peer around the corner and see her washing her face, eyes shut and all scrunched up in concentration to quickly get cleaned. There still a film of soap all over her body, showing me she still needs to rinse off. Her hair has remained mostly untouched by the water as she knows there's not enough time for it to dry before leaving.

“I know you're there, Carol. I heard your heels on the tile.”

I can't help but smile. “Shall I pay no attention to that woman behind the curtain?”

“You're distracting me, even if - “ Therese runs her face beneath the stream of water to rinse, then blows the excess water from her lips before continuing. “ - I couldn't see you.” She notices I’m dressed, with my makeup applied and hair brushed back, already in my coat. “You’re not showering?”

“We’ll be in Sioux Falls just after nightfall. Perhaps I could persuade you to shower with me later? I've some very difficult to reach - ”

“Let’s focus on getting through a car ride there.” Therese washes the rest of the soap from her body and then turns off the water. Only when the soap is removed, I notice the patch of puckered skin turning purple above her right breast, a spot where I remember having spent some time kissing and biting the night before. It stands out significantly against her light skin. “Towel?” I stop looking at the mark and turn my attention to look behind me for the towel resting by the sink. I pass it to her before she starts to shiver. “I'm going to pack the car and settle the bill. You keep getting ready, slowpoke.”

“Who you callin’ slowpoke?”

I turn to leave the bathroom and before I make it out, Therese reaches for the sleeve of my coat, encouraging me back. She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. There’s still that hint of shyness and uncertainty to her. I know what she wants to say and why she wants to say it now before we leave the comfortable sanctuary of this room. I place my hand on top of hers, feeling the dampness of her skin and how strongly she has gripped the cuff of my coat, and I roll my thumb across the back of her hand. 

“I know.” I say before softly kissing her on the lips. Therese sweetly leans in, smiling through it and I pull away before either of us gets too distracted or my lipstick needs to be reapplied. I shut the bathroom door behind me, hoping to keep in some of that warm air for Therese as she gets ready.

By the time I make it to the front desk, it’s well after check-out time, but I highly doubt anyone will care about ten or fifteen minutes on New Year’s morning.

*ding*

I can’t wait until we get to Sioux Falls. We can spend the next couple days sealed away in our quiet room with the nice double bed. Making love without any inhibitions. Bottles of Champagne. Room service orders. Togetherness. Lights always on.

All the past we leave behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Walt Whitman: [“Pioneers! O Pioneers!”](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pioneers!_O_Pioneers!)


	21. You Could Drive A Person Crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "I love you, you know that? I feel like I don't say it enough."
> 
> \+ 
> 
> The fine tumblr user who guessed the name of the book _she_ is reading in Chapter Thirty-Two of _Built for Two_ requested Carol teaching Therese to drive.

By 1958, it had become an annual tradition. 

Carol would make the trek to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles to renew her plates for the beloved Packard Super Eight Sedan. One of the first things she had Harge sign before they finalized the divorce was a transfer of ownership of her car.

Well, what she thought of as her car. 

And it hadn’t even been in her name to begin with.

She remembered the first thing she did that miserable April morning at the lawyer’s office was to open her purse and pull out her pen and crumpled registration papers. Before anyone else could go any further, she slid them across the table for his immediate attention and casually stated, “The least you can do today, Harge.” Harge signed without an uproar. He simply couldn’t refuse. He couldn’t leave his soon-to-be ex-wife without a car of her own, even if she was living in the city. He wasn't that selfish. Besides, there were other cars at his disposal in the garage of his parents’ house.

It didn’t end there though. 

There was still a trip early one Friday morning before Decoration Day to the Motor Vehicle Commission back in New Jersey for renewal just to get the car up-to-date. Therese had marked the date in large, red letters on the shared calendar that sat by the telephone so Carol wouldn’t forget that she would have to miss work in order to drive over there - not that her boss minded she take the extra day off. Rather than have it be a completely wasted jaunt through the Lincoln Tunnel, Therese came along and they went over together to renew the car; from there, driving down the Parkway to Atlantic City for the rest of the long weekend. It wasn’t a terribly long drive, but Therese noticed the fatigue and how many times she reached up to dab the corner of her eye with her finger.

She had only been working full-time for a month and already the daily routine of waking up early, making lunch (usually just Monday mornings, then forgotten about for the rest of the week), making dinner (usually just Monday to Wednesday, then too tired to cook any other nights), Thursday evening dinners out, and getting to bed every night at a reasonable hour was proving difficult. There was also the constant worry about Rindy, and what the decision would be over custody. It weighed too heavily on Carol in particular, and those first few months together entailed many nights of Therese curling around her on the couch, on the patio chaise lounge, or in the privacy of their bedroom, reassuring her that things would work out accordingly and that these fears would only be temporary and a distant memory someday.

That was the first time Therese thought maybe she ought to learn to drive, to help keep Carol’s stress levels low when she should be relaxing. Deep down though, she was terrified of getting behind the wheel of a car. She could handle riding a bike; anything much faster frightened her especially with the traffic of Midtown and notorious New York drivers.

Then there was the matter of Carol replacing the New Jersey license with a New York one and getting New York plates for the car. All that to finalize the necessary change of address. That was another day altogether. That was another office entirely; however, the ride to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles in Manhattan was far simpler than getting over to New Jersey.

It was summer. It was hot. It was humid, and there was nothing else to do other than stand in line surrounded by sweaty, disgruntled customers all there for the same, miserable, annual reason. At least she had the foresight to wear her moccasins rather than her heels for all this standing around.

An hour later, registration changed, new plates put on, license changed over, fees all in order, Carol had one more small, yet important detail of her detachment from Harge squared away. Now when she pulled the license from her wallet, it no longer read Ridgewood, New Jersey. It was New York, New York and the address she shared with Therese on Madison Avenue. All the surly customers were completely worth it for a small piece of paper that symbolized her new home and her new life.

Before heading out the door, on a table filled with forms and booklets, one caught her eye. Carol had remembered Therese mentioning getting her driver's license at some point. She picked up a copy of the blue and yellow driver's manual, scanned the back of the booklet, and then placed it in her purse. Perhaps she would be interested now.

Carol forgot about manual until two days after as she was getting ready to leave for work. She took the booklet from her purse and placed it on the table by the telephone, with a note next to it saying, “How about it?” when she got home later that day, there were scribbles beneath her note from earlier, now including, “Maybe next year?” written beneath it along with a phone number Carol didn't recognize.

For years it went on like that: Carol doing her annual pilgrimage to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles for her registration and plates renewal, sometimes her license too, always picking up the latest copy of the driver's manual, always leaving a copy by the telephone. Always finding her note with an addendum from Therese days later.

They never discussed it, and Carol never pressured her into getting her permit. When she's good and ready, she thought. But she couldn't understand how Therese could possibly wait so long, especially when Therese so happily took to riding the Vespa they had brought back from Italy that second summer together. Riding that was different, similar to a bicycle only with a little motor on it. Plus there was always the added bonus of the driver being lovingly held on to while out in public and no one the wiser. That alone was reason enough to stick with riding the Vespa around the city.

She remembered when she was home from school one summer before college, learning to drive with her grandfather through the quiet, residential streets of Greenwich. Carol had certainly been nervous, but the area was calm, green, and by the seaside, so there was nothing frightening about the experience when her surroundings dictated nothing calmness.

Perhaps it was the bustle of New York, all the pedestrians, streetcars, tight right turns besides clunkily parked cars and merging traffic that intimidated her. Carol began to wonder if maybe she should just get her license in Connecticut instead, using the Greenwich address as her residence, at least on paper. It was much easier to drive in that kind of area with that bulky Packard and there wouldn't be all of those rules to memorize for the city versus upstate. No, that would just complicate things further and they might try to retest her should she transfer over her license. Therese didn’t need the additional hassle.

By the time Carol went to the Bureau for the annual renewal in 1958, the office was in an uproar over new regulations and changes going into effect. Too many vehicles, too many accidents, too many people in need of service, not enough regulations. She inquired if anything would change, particularly in regards to the scooter registered in her name. 

“Nah, you're good, ma’am. Y’gotta license and tags, so you're all set.”

“If one doesn't have a license?” she asked, trying not to sound suspicious.

“Startin’ next year, operators of scooters are gonna need a license, ma’am.”

No time like the present, she quipped as she walked toward the exit, picking up the familiar blue and yellow manual. Hopefully, it would be the last time that she would need to pick up that slim booklet before heading out the door.

When she returned home, Carol placed the manual in its usual spot for Therese to find. This time; however, a note was affixed to the front with a paperclip, written in red pencil with some of the print firmly and repeatedly underlined, “No, really!!! Starting next year, you will need a license to drive your scooter.” Carol walked away from the table and went around the apartment tidying the living room, mentally preparing what they would have for dinner that night as she cleaned. Before she got any further into fluffing the sofa cushions, she returned to the table where she had placed the manual and removed the note, crumbling it up and placing it in the pocket of her apron. She grabbed another sheet of paper and the red pencil one more time, now writing, “For me, dearest? For Rindy? Please?”

Two days later, Carol spotted the reply as she was heading out the door.

“Anything for you two... ”

* * *

Saturday, June 7th, 1958

“Don’t be afraid of - “

“I’m not,” Therese adamantly interjected.

“- driving next to the trolleys.”

“Well, maybe I’m afraid of driving near them.”

Carol laughed, placing her hand on her thigh and gently patting her. “Darling, they’re not going to bite. Besides, they can’t move from their track and their next movement is predictable. It’s almost easier when you keep that in mind.” 

“That’s why I’m afraid.”

“Yes, but _you_ can pass them - ”

“Only on the right. Unless I’m on a one-way street, in which case, I can pass from the left.”

“And if you come upon a stopped trolley?”

“Seven feet from the nearest door,” Therese replied. Carol gave her a look, insinuating that there was more needed for her response. “Eight feet if we’re in the city.”

Carol sat back in her seat, a faint smile peeking from the corners of her mouth, silently pleased with how far Therese had come in the couple months since they had started driving lessons. Therese always said that she was a good teacher. It would have been easiest to hire a driving instructor, but there was no amusement in that, Carol chuckled, always sitting somewhere between the passenger seat and the middle seat, ready to slide over and grip the wheel at a moment’s notice, at least when Therese has been first starting out. Then again, driving in the 1930s was certainly much different than the congestion of contemporary roadways. What a difference twenty years made on the roads.

She recalled pleasant memories of her grandfather teaching her to drive before she went to college, he too saying it was better he taught her than someone else. They would spend the time telling jokes and chatting about the news, their plans for the week, or anything else happening in their lives, all the while Carol would drive around the neighborhood, smiling and laughing without a care in the world. Somehow, they always ended up by the beach when the lessons were over, stopping for ice cream, and sitting along the seawall. 

Any summer weekend they spent over in Greenwich would involve Carol having Therese drive up along the busy Post Road, over the train tracks, past the trolleys that ran down to the beach, and then back to the house via the beach and ice cream cones, just like she had done with her grandfather. Carol always with her scoop of rum raisin, Therese with her scoop of strawberry. Every time, a block away from the ice cream parlor, Therese would ask if they should head back to the house to get Rindy so the three of them could get ice cream together. Carol always insisted it remain the two of them for these excursions to the beach after driving, exactly like it had been with her grandfather. By the third time, she asked the question, Therese realized Carol was attempting to be more forthcoming and come to terms with aspects of her past that she had not shared with her. She needed that quiet time and experience with Therese to help her open up more readily. The pair of them stared out at Long Island Sound, leaning against the seawall - albeit a new one since its predecessor hadn't been able to hold up to the 1938 hurricane - and talking about their weekend, friends, Rindy, and upcoming plans.

Once back in the car, ready to go home, and with Therese’s confidence significantly boosted from a successful day’s lessons, Carol would place herself directly in the middle, leaving no space along the bench seat between them. Therese would smile and encourage her closer, even if Carol would just spend next five minutes ticklishly and playfully nibbling at her neck and ear while whispering words of encouragement in her ear at every stop sign.

“You’ll be ready before the end of the summer,” Carol confidently assured her as they pulled into the driveway.

“How do you know?”

Carol only needed to wink, never truly having to elaborate any further whenever she winked at Therese, and tugged her hand, pulling her across the bench seat so she would instead use the passenger's side door where she stood. There would be a playful shriek from Therese as she slid forward, followed by plenty of laughter until Carol bent down and rested each hand on Therese's hips to keep her still, then leaning in to press her lips to hers. All Therese had to do, in return, was twirl her hands around the scarf Carol draped around her neck and pull her in, resting on top of her in the secluded openness of the driveway and the front seat of the Packard.

Once Therese has been rewarded with kisses, they'd enter the house to find Rindy patiently waiting on the staircase in the foyer for them to return, engrossed in a book, eagerly awaiting news on the progress of their resident driving student, and forever pouting over her mother taking Therese for ice cream without her. Carol always had to promise that later in the evening, all of them would go for ice cream. The stairway has always been Carol's favorite spot to read in the summer, and every time Carol came into the house and saw Rindy sitting there, she couldn't help but wonder how she could have known it was the best spot on a hot day. 

Rindy would smile as she'd hear the car approach the house, her mother always grinning the moment they walked in the door, removing her silk scarf, and noticing in the large hall mirror how her lipstick was smudged only a little, but not enough that she really needed a touch-up. Carol would look annoyed for a moment, but then all she could do was smirk, remembering how it got that way and turn to nearby Rindy to give her a hug and a kiss. Finally, Therese would come bounding in, grinning in the same manner as her mother moments earlier, toss the keys on the table in the foyer.

Things were slowly falling into place.

* * *

Friday, August 8th, 1958

Carol was slightly embarrassed to have to ask Therese for a nickel, she was usually so good about carrying enough change on her for impromptu telephone calls. Fishing a nickel from her pocket, Therese handed it over, advising not to spend it all in all in one place, and sat back down in her seat.

“Belivet!”

Waking up to the window for a final time, the woman behind the counter handed her a square of paper and sent her on her way. Therese couldn't help but smile as she placed the piece of paper in her wallet, then threw the wallet into her purse. She walked up to the payphone where Carol stood, smiling and chatting away with whomever on the other end. The moment she saw Therese, she made her excuses and hung up. 

“Shall we?” Carol said as she undid the clasp to put her earring back in. Therese nodded and scurried out the door, making a beeline for the Packard, parked about seven cars down. “Do you - “ Carol dangled the keys from her finger and twirled them around, smiling and, no doubt, hiding her wagging eyes behind her sunglasses.

“Not a chance. Let's go.” It was only eleven and it already felt like the entire day had passed by between taking the test and waiting for things to be typed up. Therese opened the passenger's side door and sat somewhere closer to the middle to be next to Carol and hold her hand as they rode home to pick up some forgotten item before heading back to Greenwich. They rolled down their windows, loving how the cool air breezed into the car every time Carol was able to drive down a block going over thirty. With plenty of time before the streets of Midtown were filled with the weekday lunchtime crowd, it was a quick ride back and Carol parked by the apartment rather than put the car in the garage.

Carol pulled some perishables from the refrigerator that she knew wouldn’t last the weekend, placing everything in a basket next to the door. She then went in search of Therese who was just leaving the bathroom in their bedroom, pulling off her clothes to change into something more comfortable for the drive, all without uttering a word. With her shirt untucked and unbuttoned, and her shoes kicked off, Therese walked up and put her arms around Carol. 

“What is it, angel?”

Therese said nothing, snugly circling Carol's waist, calmly breathing in and out, inhaling Carol's perfume, nuzzling the side of her neck, and raking her fingers against her lower back. Carol pulled her toward the bed, patting a space to get Therese to lie down beside her. With her chin resting on Therese’s shoulder and their cheeks pressed together, Carol quietly held her. Therese still saying nothing for a long time as she got comfortable in Carol’s arms. “Thank you,” she finally whispered.

“Whatever for?”

“Teaching me to drive. Encouraging me all these years, even if you had to push me into it. I know it hasn’t been easy to always have you do all the driving.”

Carol spanned her hand over Therese’s stomach, softly rubbing the bare skin from her open shirt. “It wasn’t hard to do that for the woman I love so deeply. I’m so proud of you.” Carol cleared her throat and held her tighter, letting Therese go for just a moment so she could brush her hair away from her neck. "I love you, you know that?” she sighed, “I feel like I don't say it enough.”

“Of course you do!” Therese assured her. “You told me this morning when we woke up, and again before we left the apartment, and when we got into the car to come here… ”

“No, not like that, I mean,” Carol began, “I mean, I don’t say it enough. All drawn out. Romantically. It always seems as though whenever I say it, it’s hurried.”

“Well, there are certain occasions, if I might say, where you do say it rather quickly - “

“Stop,” Carol said with a laugh as she poked Therese’s stomach. “Alright, alright.” Lifting her head, Carol kissed her cheek a couple times then put her head back down on the pillow, nuzzling into Therese’s hair. 

With the shades drawn in the bedroom to keep out the warm midday sun, the room was cool enough that Therese sat up and tugged at the throw at the end of the bed to toss over the two of them. Before settling into Carol’s arms again, she turned to face her and placed a lingering kiss on her lips. “I have never doubted, in these past five years we’ve been together, that you love me, Carol. No matter how you say it, it’s from you and is always sincere and always loving. You tell me at every opportunity, and no matter what, it always means something to me. So, thank you.” Therese draped the blanket over them and once more got comfortable in Carol’s arms.

Placing her chin on the edge of Therese’s shoulder, she whispered into her ear before falling asleep holding onto her, “Darling, I love you.”


	22. Chapter 11

Wednesday, October 21st, 1953  
(0)

“Know what? You're a fucking asshole, Richard.”

“Yeah?” Richard had a smug look on his face, nodding his head, frowning, and desperately trying to come up with a good comeback to his now ex-girlfriend's insult. “That's a real nice mouth you got on you.”

“Isn't that why you were with me in the first place?” she shouted. She pushed up her glasses with her finger then put her hands on her hips, waiting for Richard to walk toward the desk where she had placed a carton with the few belongings she had left in his bedroom. He stood by the table, arms crossed, to see that she didn't put anything of his into the box she was planning to take with her.

“That's totally unfair! You know it's more than that; you know I love you.” He tried to move forward, but she raised her hand to insist he keep away.

“No, you don't, Richard. It's over, it's been over for a long time.” She rounded the corner of the desk to open a drawer and felt around until she found what she was looking for. “See this?” Holding up the bottle opener in front of his face, she kept it still for a moment before placing into the box. “It's mine, so good luck drinking your way into drunken stupor as soon as I walk out that door.”

Richard groaned, walking over to sit on the edge of his bed. She picked up a couple more things to place into the carton until she had finally gathered everything together. “Well?”

“Yup, that's everything.” He looked at the nightstand and picked up the heavy red book sitting there. He stood up to place it on the top of the items in the box she carried, however before he could, she insisted, “Fucking keep it. I've always said what you don't know about women could fill a book.”

He tossed the book into the bed and gave one final meager attempt as she walked to the bedroom door. “Please. Don't.”

“I'll be at Patty's if there anything important I forgot.” She opened the door while trying to balance the box with one arm and turned around to face him a last time, angling her head and grinning. “Oh, and Richard? Patty thinks I have a real nice mouth on me too.”

With a wink in his direction, she was gone.

Richard slammed the door and locked it, furious this had happened. Again.

To him. 

Two times in less than a year. 

He removed the book he’d thrown onto the bed, placing it back on the nightstand. Richard lay down, curling up while holding one of the pillows, motionless and drained from fighting with her for two solid hours. He remembered there was that beer in the fridge downstairs, but she did take the opener and he didn't feel like looking through the house for a hammer and nail to drain the liquid out. He didn't feel like moving from the bed so he stayed perfectly still until falling asleep.

Hours later, Richard woke in a haze, convinced it was all a dream for a brief second until he noticed the missing records and books from the nearby shelves. She was gone.

He looked at the nightstand, covered in newspapers on top and dirty glasses on the shelves below, and spotted the book she left behind. “‘Could fill a book,’” he mimicked as he picked it up and flipped to the table of contents.

Reading through the chapter titles, everything sounded like an appealing read; Chapter 11 caught his eye, however he wasn't in the mood to read up on that. Instead, he kept flipping through the pages until he got to a bare black-and-white drawing. He turned it on its side, upside down, every which way to try and look at it from the best possible angle.

“What the fuck is a clitoris?”

* * *

Saturday, November 7th, 1953  
(1)

“You got a coaster, Semco?”

“Fuck you.”

Chuckling, Phil took a swig of beer and assessed the state of his friend's room, picking up a newspaper by the radio and noticing it dated from the previous month. He put his beer down on top of the old newspapers as he looked for where to start cleaning. The classifieds had been gone through, circled, and stacked into a pile. There was a red book on his nightstand, missing its dust jacket, and sitting with a glass in water on top of it. Phil removed the water glass and inspected the book to see if there were any water rings along the cloth cover. He flipped it over, catching the title as he shifted it in his hands and did his best to appear expressionless as he looked it over. He turned his attention back to the room and moved toward the window. “This place smells awful. How about we crack a window at least?”

Richard waved a hand and stammered, “Knock yourself out,” before reaching for his own can of beer and taking another sip.

“How the hell did it get this bad?” Richard shrugged and moved a trash can into the center of the bedroom. He very well knew why it had gotten that bad; what was most depressing was the fact it only took two and a half weeks to get that way. “Do you ever do any cleaning?”

“No,” Richard scoffed, “that’s my mother’s job.”

Phil stared at his friend. What kind of guy…. “Kind of looks like she gave up on you,” he pointed out as he looked around the room again, trying to assess where to start. How could a single bedroom be so filthy? It was almost overwhelming until he realized that it was just one room and despite everything, his friend was in a deep depression over his most recent break up. The two of them would easily be able to get it uncluttered. “We’ll get this cleaned up in no time, alright?”

Avoiding the question, Richard grumbled, “I can’t believe she left me. I really loved her.”

Phil took the beer can out of Richard’s grasp and placed it on the nearby bookshelf. He then braced both of his hands on Richard’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “You loved fucking her. There’s a big difference.”

“No, no, it wasn’t just the sex, I loved her. Really, really loved her.”

“You _think_ you loved her.”

Richard shook his head again. Clearly the fifth beer by two in the afternoon was getting to him. “No, I did! I was gonna ask her to marry me and everything.”

Dropping his arms and walking away from Richard, Phil reached back over to grab his beer hoping he would finally take note of what was so painfully obvious to everyone else in their social circle. It wasn't just Therese. Or the most recent fling since March. Marcie, was it? Phil couldn't keep track anymore. Nearly every girl he had been introduced to ended up leaving him, usually around the same time he started talking about marriage, or going to Europe. He felt badly this kept happening to his friend, but Phil also completely understood why it was happening in the first place. “Aren't you noticing a pattern here, Semco?”

“What?” Richard stared back at him, clueless and blinking his eyes rapidly. “That all the girls who’ve dumped me this past year turned out to be goddamn dykes?”

“That's not what I meant, and don’t call them that.”

“They’re fucking dykes. People like that are disgusting. Guys too. Even more so, if you ask me.”

Phil cringed and took a step back. “Knock it off.”

“What? You sympathize with people like that?”

“Some of those ‘disgusting’ people, as you put it, some of them happen to be _my_ friends. Therese? And Carol? They’re my friends, you know.”

Richard smirked at him and spoke from the corner of his mouth, “Well, sounds to me like you need some new friends.”

“Sure as hell sounds like I know where to start.” Phil chugged the rest of his beer and headed toward the trashcan to throw away the empty can. Before tossing it into the container, he stopped and smiled at Richard, tossing the can to the ground along with all the other bottles, newspapers, cans, and clothing. Retrieving his jacket and scarf from the back of Richard’s couch, Phil didn’t even bother to put everything on as he headed toward the door. “I used to think you were a pretty swell guy, but you’re just the biggest fucking ignorant asshole I’ve ever met.” Phil walked back over to the nightstand and lifted up the red book. “I'm taking this because you sure as hell don't need it and I don't have seven bucks to buy my own. So long, Semco.”

When Phil got home, he was pleased to be back in a neat, clean space that didn't smell like week-old, unrefrigerated lo mein, or was covered in every crevice with dirty gym socks and shirts. The years in the military gave him an appreciation for keeping everything around him tidy at all times. Bed always made tight enough to bounce a quarter off of, shirts and pants ironed and neatly hung up, shoes shined and lined up at the bottom of the closet.

He picked up the book, skimming through the table of contents until saw Chapter 11. Reading through it within an hour, he paused and thought about what he'd read, specifically the scale. 

“Definitely a zero,” Phil assured himself.

Wait.

A couple years earlier, while stationed in Korea, Phil remembered the weeks he was laid up in the army hospital thanks to a sniper's bullet to the shoulder. He sat up in bed, day after day, recouping and resting in a hospital room full of fellow injured soldiers, thoroughly enjoying several weeks in a real bed. Even though the bullet went clean through, it made fully lifting his arm painful. Orders came down after a month or so that he would be discharged and heading home. Phil had gotten used to sitting up in bed, chatting with the others on the wing, especially the fellow directly across from him. He was a friendly young man, from Illinois, in with a severe case of frostbite on his right hand. They chatted with each other and played cards every day, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing different than what anyone else in there did to pass the time.

The night before Phil left, he woke in the middle of the night, looking around the room as everyone slept. He knew he’d be out in the morning, back home in about nine days, but it had been - awhile - since he had last been able to pleasure himself thanks to that arm injury. Lowering his shorts and reaching down with his usual hand, it felt satisfying, but no sooner had he started, Phil forced himself stop when the pain from his shoulder became too much. He tried switching hands, however it wasn’t the same, not the same grip that he liked. Frustrated and muttering aloud, he stopped and rolled onto his side. About a minute later, his friend from across the room sauntered over to his bed and smoothly pulled down the blanket. He looked up to smile at Phil, and Phil just smiled back in approval.

It was by far the best blow job Phil had ever received.

* * *

Friday, November 27th, 1953  
(2)

Carol awoke to the pleasant weight of Therese on top of her, nestled right between her legs, Therese's head on her breast, her arms holding onto her tightly. Carol moved her hips once to relieve some of pressure on her bladder and the garters digging into the skin of the top of her thighs, which woke Therese if only for a moment. She nuzzled her head against the curve of Carol's breast, whimpering for only a moment, then returning to a restful slumber once Carol caressed her back, reassuring her that she was alright. The couch was narrow, but it worked nicely for the impromptu sleepover.

Looking around the apartment, Carol noticed there were still beer bottles on the coffee table, a couple of dirty plates with half-eaten pumpkin pie crusts, and an ashtray filled with remnants of something; she squinted to see, but couldn't make it out whatever it was they had been smoking into the wee hours of the morning. Clearly Phil wasn’t up and into his cleaning frenzy yet.

Carol had never been to a get together like that before. It had always been cocktail dresses, coiffed hair, heels, punch, cigarettes for her, cigars for the gents. Music provided by a live jazz quintet with slicked back hair and white smoking jackets.

“What do I wear?” she asked Therese, still nervous about fitting in well with her friends at social gatherings.

“What’s comfortable. This isn’t the annual cotillion,” Therese promised her. “Besides, they like you just as you are. Doesn’t matter what you got on.”

This was a tight skirt and sweater, messy hair, moccasins, beer, and what smelled like marijuana kind of party. Shouting to whomever was closest to the record player to flip it over or pick out something new every fifteen minutes or so.

These kids, she thought with a smile; most of them no more than ten years younger, and Therese being the youngest of the crowd. She’d have loved something like this when she was their age. Then again, that would have never been a possibility. She was already married, had too many troublesome responsibilities when she was their age. It was probably embarrassing enough that she and Therese had shown up at Phil and Dannie’s apartment with a large Horn & Hardart pumpkin pie and a container of homemade whipped cream on Thanksgiving night, prompting one of the other guests to ask who had invited Betty Crocker and her assistant. After Carol downed a few beers and started swearing like a sailor, the Betty Crocker jokes got put aside and everyone loved her.

Nevertheless, they at least had the pie for when they decided to light up.

By the time they had drunk all the beers and finished the entire pie, it was late, the others had left, Dannie and Louise were already in bed, and Phil suggested they stay over and sleep on the couch rather than drive in their state. Tossing the two of them a blanket and leaving them alone in the living room, Carol looked around and shrugged, still feeling woozy from the beer. At least she hoped it was the beer. 

After removing her sweater, she reached behind her back, beneath the upper part of her slip to remove her bra without taking anything else off. Therese watched from the chair near the couch, wondering how Carol could make awkwardly removing her bra without taking anything else off into something so sexy. Reclining onto the couch, Carol lay down, propping a pillow under her head and waited for Therese. Therese remained seated in the nearby chair, legs crossed and staring at Carol without saying a word, wondering where she was going to sleep. As though she could tell what she had been thinking, Carol patted her stomach and raised an arm above her head, tucking it beneath the pillow. Therese unbuttoned her jeans, still keeping them on, then removed her sweater, revealing she wore nothing else underneath. She tossed her sweater on top of Carol’s and glanced back at Carol in their makeshift bed.

“You’re pretty.”

Therese practically beamed and climbed on top of her, resting her head on Carol’s shoulder to get comfortable and reached down to pull up the cover, cocooning both of them in the warmth of the crocheted blanket.

* * *

To Dannie’s left, was Louise: all curled up, sleeping soundly, her clothes hanging from the bedpost nearest her.

To his right, was…

“What’s your name again?”

The young man next to him rolled over and extended his hand, “It’s Allan.”

To Dannie’s right, was Allan: blond, muscular, completely naked, and waiting to shake hands with him.

Dumbfounded, he held out his hand and said, “Dannie.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “we were introduced about three times last night. Now go back to bed, cutie, it's about six and I have to leave for work around noon.” Allan rolled back onto his side facing Dannie and Louise, promptly falling back asleep.

It took a moment for Dannie to remember what they had been doing the night before. Then he remembered.

Beer.

Pumpkin pie.

Smokes.

Lots of smokes.

Oh, yeah, and Allan. 

Dottie’s friend. He briefly remembered reading that passage in that book Phil gave him about how some women enjoyed watching two men engage with each other. It wasn’t as though it was the first time it had happened; definitely the first time with Louise in the picture. He asked her, and she practically led the three of them into Dannie’s room where they retired before all the guests had left.

He took a deep breath and smiled, sinking back down under the covers to cuddle with Louise. A moment later, he felt an arm drape over his own waist, and Allan shift himself closer to him. All snug in the middle of the bed while holding his girl and being held by Allan, Dannie fell back asleep perfectly content with his two cozy bedfellows.

* * *

Wednesday, December 9th, 1953  
(3)

“ _Casablanca_?”

“Bergman.”

“ _The Third Man_?”

“Valli.”

“ _The Bishop’s Wife_?”

“No question: Cary Grant.”

“ _Roman Holiday_?”

“Gregory Peck. Audrey looks too much like Therese and it’s creepy.” Dannie laughed.

“ _Gilda_?”

“Rita. Definitely Rita.”

“ _Streetcar_?”

Louise paused. “I can’t choose. Marlon Brando and Vivien Leigh are both - ”

“You gotta pick one.”

“Fine. Brando. But that is unfair to make me choose between the two, Dannie.” Louise angled her head to peer at Dannie’s notebook to see what he was writing. “Well? What’s the total?”

Preoccupied with counting the ticks in each column, Dannie added all twenty-four together and looked up at Louise with a grin. “Like you said it would be, it’s even.”

Leaning in toward Dannie, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Told you,” she giggled, “and next time there’s three of us in bed, it’ll be with a girl.”

* * *

Friday, January 8th, 1954  
(4)

Those first days back after a week away were always the toughest. Her limbs felt heavier, her head pounded, her back ached. Her feet ached, but not from standing in heels all day, but from just walking along the Manhattan sidewalks and trying to keep her balance on the icy walkways. Everything in her body hurt and all Carol wanted was warmth, wine, and a certain brown-haired woman. 

Carol trudged into the apartment, kicking off her overshoes at the doorway, loosening the scarf around her neck, and removing her fur coat. It felt good to be home. It felt even better when she realized the radiators were already turned up. Therese never turned them up herself, she always left that to Carol’s discretion.

Abby, on the other hand, had no problem coming into their apartment while they were out during the workday to either escape from the elements or drop off any mail that still showed up at the house in Ridgewood, or downstairs for that matter. She also had no problem turning on all the radiators in the living and dining rooms whenever she stopped by, particularly when the temperatures were as frigid as they had been. Carol liked coming home to a warm apartment, even more so preferred coming home to a warm apartment and Therese; however, that night, Therese was off at a work colleague’s for drinks. Therese had invited her to to come along when she first got the invitation on her first day back at work, but Carol already knew she’d barely make it to Friday as it was. Besides, it was good for Therese to go out with her own friends for an evening and leave Carol to relax on her own for a few hours.

She wasn’t hungry, almost too tired to eat anything substantial. There was always cheese. And wine. And those cookies she occasionally liked to dunk in milk. And more wine. Wine could be brought into the bathroom. Wine could be pleasantly sipped in the bathtub. A plan was formulating in Carol’s mind involving a nice, warm bathroom, some properly aerated wine, and low lighting.

Heading toward the kitchen, Carol’s eye caught on a small pile of mail and a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. Foregoing opening the letters, she focused on the package, noticing it was fairly heavy for such a small size. Probably a book, she thought. It hadn’t been sent through the mail: there were no markings or stamps on it. There was a note card attached to the front of the wrapping; the envelope addressed to both Carol and Therese, in a handwriting Carol didn't recognize. When she opened the envelope and saw it was from Louise, Carol smiled and noted the message on the note card tucked inside simply read:

_Chapter 11_

Curious, Carol removed the paper to reveal a book. A heavy, red hardback book, its dust jacket long gone, only lightly worn around the edges and overall still looking fairly new despite a trace of a water ring on the back cover. She turned the book on its side to read the binding and laughed. 

Now even curiouser, she flipped toward Chapter 11, bending the spine back a little bit further than intended as she balanced the book in one hand and combed through with the other. When she got to the appropriate page, Carol raised her eyebrow and shook her head with a smile when she saw the chapter title and read it aloud, “Homosexual Responses and Contacts.”

This will be a fun read, she thought, as she carried a glass of wine and the book into the bathroom with her.

* * *

Sunday, January 10th, 1954  
(5)

“I'm a six,” Therese sighed.

The red book landed on the dining table with a tremendous thud, shaking Carol’s mug of coffee. Carol looked up from the Sunday crossword and leaned back in her chair, tightening her bathrobe before picking her pencil again. She tapped her pencil eraser against the paper, grinning at Therese who solemnly glared back at her. 

“You are certainly a six now. Your complete history; however, would be a five given your ‘incidental’ experience with the opposite sex.”

“‘Incidental,’” Therese mimicked back as she sat down in the chair across from Carol. “What about you?”

“I’ve always been a six, I think,” Carol began, tapping the pencil against the newspaper again and warmly looking up at Therese, “and that’s where I am now, however, I have ‘distinct’ enough past with men - a man, I should say - that would deem my history a four.”

Pouting, Therese pulled the book toward her and opened to Chapter 11, flipping through the pages before finally speaking. “That doesn't seem right, you're… “

“I'm what?”

“You're Carol. You should be a seven or an eight at least. Maybe even a ten.”

Carol laughed. “What you’re saying is that the scale can't contain me. It's just one person's interpretation of defining human sexualities. Don't let it get to you,” she remarked before returning to the crossword puzzle. 

Without saying anything more, Therese skimmed back a few pages to find a figure with a list of percentages. She focused on it for a moment, debating whether or not she even wanted to approach the subject, until realizing that the longer she stared at it, the more she wanted to know. 

“I have a question about this. At the bottom.” Therese flipped the book around and pushed it across the table to Carol. “Was that… accurate? I mean, in your experience? Comparatively?”

Carol pulled the book forward and rested her chin on her hand as she breezed through the text for reference, trying to recall what she had read days earlier. She shook her head from side to side, indicating it was somewhat accurate. “From what I’d abysmally recall, I’d say the marital column is on point. That,” and she dryly motioned with her pencil, “probably would have been the most accurate percentage pertaining to me.” Carol glanced at the book without hearing any reaction from Therese other than a rustling in her chair. Carol lifted her head, making eye contact with her and noticing a worried expression on her face. “What are you thinking?”

Therese looked back at her, then back to the table. “Nothing,” she answered, rapidly shaking her head.

Carol knew she wanted to say something, but could see how she struggled with whatever it was and Carol didn’t necessarily want to pressure a reaction or comment from her. She lowered her arm and reached across the table to Therese’s hand, fiddling with the corner of the linen placemat. “Talk to me.”

“You and me… we can look at those numbers and feel a bit smug, I suppose. But doesn’t that make you sad?” asserted Therese as she pointed back to the chart. “Knowing - seeing - that there is such a difference in percentages between the experience of a man and a woman, and that of two women?”

“What saddens me is that I put up with it for so long. At least when Harge was done I knew how to take matters into my own hands, so to speak. I never even needed to concern myself with his efforts.”

Therese blinked a couple times, surprised by Carol's candid remark. “And now?”

“With us? We might have some time until the five-year mark there, but, Therese, with you and you alone, I assure you: it’s you, one hundred percent of the time. Didn't you know that?”

There was no hiding the redness to Therese’s cheeks as she looked across the table, grabbing Carol’s coffee mug with her free hand to take a sip so she could mask some of her embarrassment. When finished, she slid the mug back across the table, a sly grin peeking from the corners of her mouth, and Carol’s gaze never leaving her the entire time. Again, staring into each other’s eyes, neither of them said a word as Carol repeatedly grazed her thumb across Therese’s knuckle.

“Without fail,” she emphasized. “You are exceptionally - skilled - in that regard. But more importantly, I always know how much you love me.” She let go of Therese's hand and relaxed back in her seat, resuming her crossword while Therese patiently observed her reading through the clues and jotting down answers. 

After five minutes with neither woman speaking, Carol put down her pencil and brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen out of place. Her mind was too distracted to focus on thinking through the answers; it used to be so easy to remember the names of all those European rivers that always appeared in the puzzles. Frustrated, she sat back in her seat and her mind wandered to Therese. Carol crossed her arms and looked up, watching every move from across the table. Taking a minute to look away from Therese, wondering if the same was true for her. 

It was easy for Carol to be so forthcoming with praise, indicating all the remarkable ways Therese had become familiar with how her body responded. All within only nine months, she pleasantly thought to herself. Just the weekend before, during the Christmas and New Year’s holidays, Carol had been sprawled out in front of the fireplace as Therese pampered every inch of exposed skin, rendering her legs completely wobbly that first day back at work.

She wondered, how did Therese truly feel? Did she actually… 

Carol waited then took a deep breath before speaking. “Do you… ?” Moving forward in her seat, Carol eyed the book and looked back at Therese.

“Do I what?”

Once more, she paused before starting to speak, uncrossing her arms and placing both hands flat, back on the tabletop. “Do… “

There was a faint smile from Therese, who couldn't remember the last time she had seen Carol act so shyly around her, especially when it came to matters of sex. This time, Therese spoke in a confident tone as she looked into Carol's eyes. “Does my ‘percentage of contacts leading to orgasm’ with you fall into this impressive last line?”

“I do worry that I grew rusty over the past few years,” she timidly admitted.

“Why would you even worry about that, Carol?” 

“Because I want it to be perfect for you.”

Therese got up and walked over to where Carol sat, straddling her lap and wrapping both arms around Carol's neck for balance. Her toes barely reached the floor, something Carol had immediately noticed, and she instinctively placed her hands on the underside of Therese's jean-clad thighs to pull her closer and keep her from struggling to stay on her lap. Kissing her tenderly on the lips, Therese reassured her then rested her forehead against Carol's.

“It is.”

“Because I want to please you.”

Carol removed one hand from beneath Therese's leg and quickly brushed aside her crossword puzzle, pencil, and moved the mug of coffee as far away from her as possible. Returning her hand to the underside of Therese's thigh, Carol stood and gently eased Therese into her back atop the dining room table. 

“You do.”

“Because I want to make it with you right now on this dining room table.”

Her adept hands slid down from the top of Therese’s back down to the hem of her shirt where Carol made a space of exposed skin between her sweater and the top button of her jeans. Therese couldn’t hold back a laugh from Carol touching her in such a sensitive area, tickling her ever so slightly, making her to squirm on the tabletop. “Not on the early 19th-century Chippendale with seating for ten… “ she exclaimed, repeating a phrase she had so often heard Carol say since they'd moved into the apartment. Carol dragged the jeans by the rolled-up cuffs all the way down to the rug, then sat back down in her chair and pulled Therese closer to the edge of the table.

* * *

Monday, January 11th, 1954  
(6)

Abby loved the cold. There was nothing better for her than driving around the Northeast in the dead of winter with the top down of her car. The rush of cool air and the sides of her scarf flapping in the wind, accompanied by the smell of woodfires were her favorite memories of the winter. It didn’t matter if it was twenty or twenty below, the top of the Packard convertible was down. The only time the top was ever up was if there was a downpour. Even then it was a struggle. Less of a struggle though if Carol was the passenger in the car. No struggle if Therese was there too.

It didn’t matter that there was a blizzard on the way. Abby was still driving up and down Route 17 with the top down, making stops at the local stores before everyone decided to close early. With it being winter, there was no worry in leaving any perishable in the car for long since it was so cold out, so she safely tucked everything beneath the wool blanket in her back seat to keep it from getting too damp from the moisture. She had already figured that her last stop on her endless journey of errands would be the steakhouse, so Abby thought it best to get everything else out of the way.

Walking in the front door, Abby noticed there was only one couple sitting in the restaurant, most likely early birds there before the dinner rush. If there was even going to be a dinner rush that night with the weather what it was.

“Good evening, Miss Gerhard.”

“Hi there, Chuck. Busy?” she asked, looking around and perfectly well knowing what the answer would be.

“Pretty quiet with the blizzard on the way.” The young waiter showed Abby to her usual booth in the back, close to the kitchen and office door. He held a menu in his hand, but didn’t bother to hold it out for her to take. Instead, Chuck simply asked, “The usual?”

“Maybe,” Abby tilted her head toward the back office as she removed the scarf from her head. “She in?”

“She is. And up to her eyeballs in paperwork.”

Over the past six months, Abby had become a familiar fixture at the steakhouse. Sipping Double Martinis with extra olives, dining on some of the finest cuts of aged, marbled steak available, necking with her girl in the private office just off the main dining room… Things were coming together for her. While it might not have been the arrangement Carol and Therese had, she couldn’t complain about spending only three nights a week sleeping by herself.

Abby knocked on the office door and walked in before she even heard a reply, slumping down into the black leather office chair across from the desk. “Say, Red, how about after dinner tonight, we pack a couple bags, tie the skis to the roof… “

“Not a chance. I got bills to take care of, payroll, a custom menu for a party, a fucking blizzard to worry about… ”

“Why don't you close shop? No one’s gonna be out in this weather and your staff is going to be too worried about getting home themselves. After that couple out there leaves, send ‘em all home. We make ourselves some dinner, have a couple bottles of wine, get snowed in here… push those two couches together to make a rather comfy little bed… “

“You're tempting… “

“C'mon, I'll make it worth your while. I got other provisions in the car and the blankets. Very important to be prepared, you know.”

“I dunno.”

“Oh, come on! Live a little.”

“You don’t still live with your parents, Abby. They’ll be expecting me, especially if we get anything like the weather reports have been saying.”

Abby threw up her hands. “You’re twenty-eight, come on. You can say you got stuck - “

“No! Then my father will send his Sons of Italy buddies down here with shovels and what are they gonna find?”

Abby looked up at the ceiling and smirked. “Hopefully me with my face buried between your legs.”

“ _Mannaggia_ … “ she groaned, “it’s not funny, Abby!”

“Okay, okay… how about you close early, we have a private dinner here, and then we make for my house before it starts coming down? You can say it was closer than heading to your place. Whaddya say, Red?”

Glaring at Abby, there was a hint of disapproval on her face, but she couldn’t resist. It was the perfect excuse plus evening off of work. Paperwork could wait. “Alright, alright, I’ll tell everyone to go home.” She gave Abby a kiss as she passed her on the way to the door. “You want it medium?”

“Rare today, thanks.” Abby assessed what she had brought in with her, and remembered there were a couple items in the car she didn’t want ruined by the snow. “I have to get some stuff from the car and I’ll be right back.”

“Go ahead, gimme about twenty minutes anyways.”

“Need my help?”

“Nah, I got it. All you need to worry about is setting up somewhere for us to eat in here.”

“You sure?”

“Yes!” she laughed as she headed out the office, and glanced back over her shoulder to mouth “love you.” Abby tilted her head to the left to watch as she moved toward the kitchen, silently observing, her shoes not making a sound on the hardwood floor. “You’re staring again.”

Abby looked away even though her girlfriend didn’t turn around. “No, I wasn’t.”

“You were. I can feel you pinching my ass from ten feet away… “ she murmured, drifting off and pushing open the swinging kitchen door.

Laughing to herself, Abby made her way to the front door to head out toward her car. It was almost sunset, just barely light enough to make out the beginning of the snowfall. She darted out the door to her car to pick up the box on the floorboard with blankets, books, a portable radio, and a change of clothes. She knew they would get stuck there, no question about it, by the time they got to their second fiasco of Chianti. She raised the top of her car, making sure it was securely closed and the windows all rolled up as well before heading back inside.

As Abby approached the door, the head chef and a couple waiters hurriedly rushed out, holding the door for her and the box of provisions. None of them even bothered putting on their coats, too busy hurrying to their cars to head home. Abby found herself alone in the dining room, holding the box while the one elderly couple still sitting in there were finishing up their meal. They awkwardly made eye contact, most likely wondering why a woman would be walking into a restaurant like that with her arms full, especially the manner in which Abby was dressed.

She pulled a folding tray from the main room so there would be something to put their dinners on, ensuring it sat close enough to the desk which would do as their table. Abby debated eating over on the couches, however decided against it when realizing she didn’t want to spend the night cleaning mushroom sauce off the couch or her blankets. Nonetheless, the couches were for later and she pushed the two of them together, front to front, to form a cushy sleeping area. She took all of the paper on top of the desk and tried to stack it as neatly as possible before tossing everything onto a bookshelf where there was just enough space for a pile of papers. From the tables closest to the office, she pilfered a couple red glass candle holders, checking there were actually candles in there before bringing them into the room. 

There. Perfect. 

She stopped to look at her watch, noticing she still had another fifteen minutes or so to herself with her girl cooking up the steaks. Running around town was tiring, and that couch did look rather inviting with all those blankets on it that she had brought in from the car. Without giving it a second thought, Abby removed her shoes and her coat, and climbed over the edge of the couches to settle in. Her eyes remained shut for a moment as she caught her breath and wondered how the hell she was going to get her convertible out of the parking lot in the morning. What did she care? They were going to have a pleasant, romantic dinner for two in their own private restaurant while everyone else in the area was busy fretting over the blizzard. 

To kill some more time, she flipped onto her stomach and reached for the box at the foot of the couch where she had placed the red book Carol had given her. Abby had stopped by, unannounced, the day before to drop off the mail that was still showing up at the house in Ridgewood. She remembered Carol still wearing her bathrobe, Therese with some of the buttons undone along the shoulder of her sweater, and the two of them shrieking when she had sat down at the dining table for tea with its mussed up tablecloth, unfinished crossword puzzle, and mug of coffee that had gone cold hours earlier. 

She didn’t want to know. Indeed, she already knew, however that was beside the point. There was a book on the dining room table though, a book that caught her attention, expressly with the alluring title _Sexual Behavior in the Human Female_. As soon as she saw the book, she asked Carol if she could borrow it.

“Why do you assume it’s mine? That’s Therese’s book.” Carol corrected her in a deep voice and winked. “You’ll just have to ask her.”

Abby peered around Carol to find Therese, however, couldn’t see her anywhere. “Okay if I borrow this sex book, Therese?” she shouted. 

Therese came out from behind the kitchen doorway and simply rolled her eyes at Abby then nodded her head. “Chapter 11,” she muttered as she disappeared back into the kitchen.

Finally sitting on the couch in the restaurant office, with the book cracked open, she perused the table of contents and couldn’t decide where to start. Remembering Therese’s suggestion about Chapter 11, she immediately flipped to the section in the middle of the book and started reading. About ten pages in, Abby shook her head and put down the book. “They should have interviewed me… “


	23. Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White

Sunday, April 17th, 1955  
3:45 p.m.

“I still can’t believe you posed for those photos,” Therese declared.

“I still can’t believe you sold all of them.”

“Except that one.” Therese gestured to the three-by-three square sitting in the corner of the living room, double-wrapped in kraft paper and tied with red and white string. Carol looked over at the corner as well, then back to Therese who returned to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on dinner.

“Except that one,” repeated Carol with a smirk. “I don’t care how much Abby offers you. The answer is always ‘no.’ She’s going to ask again today. I know it.”

Before setting the table, she walked over to the radio, she turned the dial to find something other than news, dead air, what she had begun to call “that insufferable music.” Leaning over the hi-fi, she kept turning the dial, waiting for something to click, but there was nothing that appealed to her. “Just pick something!” Therese shouted from the kitchen, chuckling softly.

Carol sighed, looking down at the console, and turned her head to shout back in Therese’s direction, “You can’t dance to any of this!”

“We’re not dancing, we’re having dinner,” came the faint voice from the kitchen.

“Couldn’t we have one quick dance before dinner?”

There was a shuffle of feet to the entry of the dining room and Therese glaring at her from the side of the door frame, apparently fatigued with the conversation occurring over shouts between the living room and kitchen. “ _If_ you can find something to listen to that meets your standards, then yes. But please, if you love me - which I already know you do - no more Glenn Miller, no more Tommy Dorsey, no more Benny - ”

“Not a chance: my saddle shoes are packed in the closet somewhere.”

With a groan, Therese popped her head back into the kitchen to take a roast out of the oven to cool and finish up before Carol would distract her with dancing.

Five minutes later, with album after album pulled out and resting around the unoccupied places at the dining table, Carol had finally found something and put the record on the turntable. An area was already cleared in the living room, and she called Therese in. Therese reached her arms around her back to untie Carol’s apron that she couldn’t help but wear when cooking. “I need to get you your own apron. You’re simply swimming in mine.”

“I like wearing yours.”

Carol smiled as she watched Therese drape the apron over one of the dining room chairs, and held out her hand, beckoning Therese to come closer. With a sly grin on her face Therese walked toward her and let Carol lead her around the living room to the sway of her hips.

“Is it two years today or is it two years, four months?”

Therese rested her head against her shoulder during a slow movement in the song, and muttered, “Doesn’t matter. It’s always you and me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pérez Prado - “Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zj64NlRnpDY) (1955)


	24. Motion Study Tonsils

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hi can I be awful and request a little one-shot? I just got my tonsils out and I can't stop thinking about how adorable a minific of Therese getting HERs out would be, after coming back from the hospital (complete with a VERY sleepy/drowsy Therese and Carol essentially playing nurse to her because of how meticulously she's watching and waiting over her, and also lots and lots of sleepy snuggles). (I'm just to sleepy and nauseous to write it myself.)"

Thursday, May 5th, 1955  
1:45 p.m.

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine. Until next week then. Thank you.”

As Carol hung up the bedroom phone, Therese appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, wiping her partially wet hands on her pajama pants. She watched as Carol put down the receiver and took a deep breath, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just needed to reschedule something.” Looking back at the nightstand where a single earring already sat in the small porcelain jewelry tray, Carol debated taking out the other one well. 

Smiling, Carol stood up from the edge of the bed where she had been sitting to lift the covers for Therese to get in. “No, it's fine, sweetheart.” As Therese made her way over to the bed with the nearly finished bowl of strawberry ice cream in her hand, Carol decided to take out the other earring and place it alongside its mate the tray. She stepped to the side as Therese approached so she could crawl in and bury herself under the blankets. 

“Rest.”

Therese made a faint sound, somehow managing to give it an apologetic tone despite her not being able to speak. Carol tugged the now empty bowl of ice cream from her, and placed it on the nightstand. Turning back toward Therese, Carol stared at her lips, tinted the lightest shade of pink from the ice cream she had just been eating in abundance. It was the only thing Therese could manage to do to soothe the pain and swelling in her mouth. There was also the glass and pitcher of water next to the bed, constantly in need of refills as Therese kept drinking as much as possible to keep herself hydrated and from getting too sore of a throat. Her dark pink tongue darted out to run along her lower lip to wipe away any remnants of ice cream, distracting Carol’s gaze from her eyes to her lips.

“Shhh… rest, angel,” Carol stated for at least the tenth time already that day, then watched as Therese angled her head to incredulously look back at her. Begrudgingly, she flopped down onto the bed and wrestled her head against the pillow as she pulled the covers up tightly beneath her chin. As soon as Therese was comfortable, Carol winced, remembering that she shouldn’t be sleeping on her back. For a brief second, she debated disturbing Therese again, not wanting to bother her; she was finally looking at ease after such a difficult day. It’s probably better to have her move around now than later, she rationalized to herself. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, you’re going to need to sleep upright otherwise you’ll be in even worse pain.” 

When Therese sat up and moved forward, Carol took all the pillows on the bed as well as a couple from the guest room to prop behind Therese who kept endlessly blinking as she watched Carol scurry around the room to make sure she was as comfortable as possible. 

It was only after Therese was all comfortably propped up in bed that Carol realized she had also given her her own pillow, and not wanting to disturb Therese a second time, went to the living room to find one of the small sofa pillows that she could cover with a pillowcase to temporarily use. All of these days with the two of them getting very little sleep due to Therese constantly having to wake up for a drink or to take medication was beginning to take a toll on both of them. Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, Carol didn’t care anymore and unbuttoned and unzipped her clothes, leaving them in a messy pile on a chair in the room. She browsed the dresser for the most relaxing pair of pajamas she could possibly find so she could lie down beside Therese and, hopefully, catch a couple hours’ nap. 

As she toyed with the top button of her pajamas and moved to stand by her side of the bed, Carol checked one final time before settling in beside her. “Now, what would you like? I can put the radio on, or wheel in the television - “

A small, hoarse voice softly whispered, “You.”


	25. La Petite Souris

Tuesday, July 8th, 1954  
6:17 p.m.

In the middle of the big bed, Rindy lay on her stomach with her head cradled by her hands, eagerly watching as Carol and Therese unpacked their trunks and bags. With her bare legs in the air, jovially swinging back and forth and her teddy bear propped up sitting next to her, Rindy could only smile watching the two of them toss dirty clothes into a pile on the bedroom floor, slowly pulling item by item from their luggage. 

After just over two months in Europe, Carol missed home, mainly Rindy. Even though they only had visits every few weeks and just a couple of overnights around Christmas and Rindy’s birthday, every moment they were able to spend together was important. The two months traveling around Europe meant over two months where Carol missed out on potential visits, sleepovers, piano recitals, anything whenever Harge felt like throwing her a last-minute opportunity to see her. Every couple minutes, Carol would look up from sorting through clothes, books, and other trinkets to warmly smile over at Rindy who couldn’t divert her eyes anywhere other than following her mother as she moved throughout the room.

“Whatcha bring me?”

It had to have been at least the fifth time she had asked since they returned to the apartment from the terminal. Carol hadn’t directly answered her the other times, instead would only reply with a sly grin and without saying a word as she kept pulling items from the trunk. This fifth time, however, Carol felt compelled to finally say something because Rindy was so excited to see her and clearly couldn't contain herself any further.

“There’s something in here, I just don’t know where I put it… “ she said, feigning a search through the trunk despite it now being empty, but Rindy couldn’t see from where she sat on the bed. “Do you know, Therese?”

Therese came out of the bathroom, busy brushing her teeth, and eyed the inside of her trunk which was also empty. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “Nothing here, Rindy,” she mumbled after removing the wet toothbrush from her mouth.

With a frown on her face, Rindy flopped onto her back and kicked her legs against the edge of the bed. Both Carol and Therese could tell she was getting antsy. It was getting late and no one had bothered to think about dinner with all of the excitement of coming home. When Therese finished in the washroom, she stood over the little girl on the bed who looked back at her upside down and asked, “Did you look on the bed in the other room?”

Rindy excitedly sat up and mischievously smiled back before bolting off to the bedroom down the hall. Carol and Therese looked at each as they listened to Rindy’s scamper of feet down the hall, her little squeal of excitement, and the scamper back down the hall to their bedroom with everything in her arms, placing back on the bed and as climbed up so her mother and Therese could watch her open the presents. There were copies of Babar books in French, an assortment of mohair fur stuffed animals, a red beret to match her winter coat, and a mountain of confections from every country they had visited. As soon as Rindy jumped back up onto the bed with all her treats, she reached for one of the nougat bars and unfolded the wax paper to taste it.

“Ow!” hollered Rindy as she took a second bite of the candy and dropped the nougat bar onto the bed.

“Careful, sweet pea, there are bits of almond in there. Chew carefully.”

“No, Mommy, it’s not the candy,” she said with a small bite of nougat pushed to the side of her mouth. Directly into her hand, Rindy spit out the partially chewed piece of nougat and along with the candy, what she thought to be a piece of nougat turned out to actually be a tooth. She then swished her tongue around her mouth, pressing against the bottom of her mouth, then partially through the front line of teeth before raising a finger to prod her sensitive gums. “Um… Mommy?“

In the palm of her hand, Rindy held out her tooth for her mother to see. Carol smiled and told Rindy to sit down on the edge of the bed. Without Carol saying anything, Rindy opened her mouth for her mother to look at the new gap between her teeth. Even Therese tried to look over Carol’s shoulder so she could see, but in doing so blocked the much needed light. 

Without saying anything, Carol raised Rindy’s chin up with her finger to close her mouth and smiled back at the little girl, giving her an extended kiss on the forehead.

* * *

9:47 p.m.

“She’s growing up so quickly, isn’t she?” Carol remarked as she and Therese settled into bed.

“She is.”

“To think, I - we - also missed out on her losing her first tooth,” Carol said, flopping onto her stomach and curling into her pillow. Her voice started sad; however, grew to be more relaxed when she thought about the two of them being with Rindy when she lost her tooth. Traveling was exhausting, and five hours with an enthusiastic child and an equally enthusiastic parent was more anyone could handle. “Oh, and I greatly missed our bed,” Carol added as she got comfortable.

“At least put some clothes on, Carol,” Therese sighed. She rummaged through one of the top drawers and pulled out a slip for her to wear, something that would at least cover her yet still be cool enough in the summer heat. Therese tossed the silk garment onto Carol’s exposed back, tickling her skin as it slid from her back onto the sheets. “If not in the middle of the night, Rindy will at least come in early in the morning.” 

Therese turned out the overhead bedroom light and climbed into bed as Carol got out. She reluctantly pulled on her slip and crawled back into bed, now happily curled up facing Therese. Carol let out a contented sigh, then gave Therese a kiss.

“Did the Tooth Fairy leave anything for Rindy?”

“Goddammit, almost forgot,” Carol muttered, making Therese laugh as she buried her face into the pillow. She got up a second time to walk to the desk to find her change purse, spilling the contents onto the desk pad and picked out a couple coins.

When Carol returned to the bedroom, she shut the door without locking it and placed the handkerchief with Rindy’s tooth on the bedside table. 

“Could you hand that to me?” Therese asked, pointing quickly at the handkerchief containing Rindy’s tooth. Scrunching her brow, Carol reluctantly passed it over and watched as Therese carefully opened it up and removed what looked like two teeth.

Carol winced as she watched Therese put one in her mouth. “What in the - “

“It’s just nougat,” Therese laughed, holding up the remaining candy teeth. “I carved two ‘teeth’ for Rindy and said they were from her toy boar and lion. She asked earlier if other animals lost their baby teeth too so I told her about… “

Carol reached over to gently grasp Therese by the chin to pull her in for a kiss, stopping her from continuing. “You’re sweet. I love you.” Therese smiled back at her, guiding them both to lie down in their original positions facing one another. “Go to sleep.”

* * *

Wednesday, July 9th, 1954  
5:45 a.m.

“Mommy? Mommy?” Rindy poked her mother’s back and called out one more time. “Mommy?”

Carol woke the third time around of hearing her daughter call for her and turned her head to look at Rindy. “What is it, angel?”

“Mommy, the Tooth Fairy came!” she excitedly answered then got very quiet. “But… “

“‘But’ what?”

Rindy placed the coins on the nightstand and looked at them for a moment in the faint morning light. “But she brought me French money.”

Carol’s eyes opened wide, then shut as she laughed to herself. In the sheer exhaustion of the day, she realized she had pulled out francs instead of quarters from her coin purse. “I think _La Petite Souris_ got confused seeing your little mouse toy next to your bed and your Babar books, and instead, gave you francs.” She let out an audible chuckle, then pat the space between her and Therese. “Come on up and go back to sleep so the American Tooth Fairy can bring you something, alright?”

Rindy smiled and climbed up onto the bed, wedging herself between her mother and Therese, where she pleasantly fell back asleep.


	26. That Old Black Magic

Saturday, September 3rd, 1955  
1:46 p.m.

“I feel as though I’m the oldest person to ever go into one of these things,” Carol muttered as she looked around the record store buzzing with adolescents casually dressed due to the warm weather and flipping through album covers and milling in and out of the listening booths. She unclipped her sunglasses with the v of the front of her blouse and perched them atop her head where the kerchief in her hair helped keep them from sliding off.

“You are not!” Therese laughed, nudging Carol into the listening booth when no one else was looking in their direction. “There are… “ Therese looked around them, finally seeing what Carol saw with all of the young people in the shop, listening to records in other booths or loudly chatting with one another while leaning over the displays. “Okay, so you’re… you’re… “ Therese trailed off in her thoughts, closing the door behind her so the two of them were secured into the glass-enclosed listening booth, unable to hear anyone, unable to be heard by anyone outside of their sound booth in the corner of the record shop.

Before Therese could finish her sentence, Carol eyed her up and down, admiring the three buttons she had undone on her blouse before leaving the house that morning, following the silver chain around her neck that held a ruby pendant. Therese looked at the record in her hands, flipping it over to read the tracks of _Sweet and Hot_ , trying to decide which ones they were going to listen to. A strand of her hair fell into her line of sight as she studied the titles, and she lifted a hand to brush it out of the way.

“You’re simply beautiful,” Carol finished for her once she heard the click of the door then took a seat next to the record player on the table beside her. As Therese looked up from eying the record she held, toying with the ruby necklace that peeked in and out of the unbuttoned line of her collared blouse, she looked at Carol who watched how her finger spun around the silver chain, occasionally brushing against the hollow of her throat as it looped around. Carol swallowed as she watched the movements of Therese’s fingers, then looked squarely at her again. “And you, birthday girl, are at the mercy of my words in this listening booth where everyone can see you but can’t hear a word of what I say that could possibly make you blush like that.”

Therese stopped playing with the necklace and chain, standing still and smiling back at Carol. “Stop, Carol, you’re going to actually make me blush,” she softly giggled, her voice sounding almost hollow in the tightly enclosed space.

“You’re already blushing, sweetness.” Therese moved her hand from her necklace to her cheek, feeling the rush of warmth to her skin. “Besides, just getting started here… “


	27. Muggles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This might not be your taste...but could you write something where Carol and Therese smoke pot?"

Thursday, November 26th, 1953  
5:45 p.m.

“What do I wear?” Carol asked Therese, still nervous about fitting in well with her friends at social gatherings.

“What’s comfortable. This isn’t the annual cotillion,” Therese promised her. “Besides, they like you just as you are. Doesn’t matter what you got on.” 

Carol looked back to the two outfits laid out on the bed, still unable to determine what to wear even with Therese’s vote of confidence that anything she put on would be wonderful. As soon as Therese finished putting on her jeans for the third time that day, she approached Carol from behind and placed her arms around her waist. “I just don't know which one - “

“That,” Therese confidently said as she gestured to the sweater and skirt to their right. “You'll be more comfortable in that.”

“Comfort isn't a concern.”

Therese turned to face her, anticipating the thoughts going through Carol's mind as she had tried to pick out what to wear. “This isn't a holiday with Harge and his family. Dress for you.”

“You?”

Sighing, Therese shook her head and stood on tiptoe to kiss Carol's cheek. “No, you. You don't need to impress me.”

“I need to impress your friends,” Carol quickly replied. “Who there exactly… knows?”

“Just Phil and Dannie. Louise. They assured me everyone there's a 'cool cat’ though. No squares.”

“How… 'cool’?”

Therese laughed as she passed the sweater over to Carol. “We'll be just fine.”

“Will he... “

Shaking her head no, Therese added with the faintest of smiles, “He and Phil had a falling out a couple weeks ago, Dannie mentioned.”

6:28 p.m.

“Have you got the whipped cream?”

“For the third time,” Therese giggled, “it's right here.”

“Good.”

“You wouldn't be so concerned over the whipped cream if you didn't have to keep making it,” Therese sighed. She gestured with her head toward the door to Carol's left. “It's that one.”

Carol knocked at the door and the two waited. As soon as Carol heard footsteps coming across the hardwood floor toward them, she hurriedly added, “Not my fault I had to keep making a new batch every time you decided to lick… Good evening.”

A tall young man in a collared shirt and jeans stared back at Carol without saying a word, taking in the fur coat, hat, and perfectly coiffed hair. He looked confused, obvious to both Carol and Therese that the young man was wondering with whose mother he was speaking. “Can I help you?”

Therese nudged her way forward, partially obscured by Carol's coat and the narrow entryway. “It's us.”

“Oh, hi, Therese. I didn't see you there.” He stepped to the side allowing them to enter the apartment, however still followed Carol's every move as she did beside Therese holding a pie. “So… you Betty Crocker’s assistant here?”

Therese deadly stared back at her friend without correcting him and waited for some effort on his end in acknowledging what he had said. Before anyone could make introductions, Dannie came over to take the pie from Carol's hands and thank them for coming. 

The apartment was bustling with plenty of people around Therese and Dannie's age; Carol easily being the oldest there by at least five years. She wasn't as concerned about their age differences as much as noticed the difference between their type of party and the ones she had been so accustomed to attending with Harge. Everyone was laughing and smiling, dancing and overall having a good time. Equally surprising was how many of them surprisingly didn't have family to be with on Thanksgiving. Almost everyone there came from somewhere else.

8:16 p.m.

Carol scrunched her brow as she looked over at the young man who had greeted them at the door, now with his arm draped across what she thought to be his girlfriend’s shoulders. “You don't know how to roll your own cigarettes?” 

“Pfft… and spiffy Betty Crocker over here does?”

“Watch and learn, smart ass.” Carol took a swig of beer then held out the bottle toward the incredulous, brash young man. “And I’m not Betty fucking Crocker,” she muttered under her breath.

Carol sat next to the young man and finished rolling the cigarette he had been working on, lighting it up and immediately taking a couple puffs before starting the next one. 

“That’s…. “ Smiling back at the crowd of onlookers, she grinned, “yeah, that’s… “

Dannie crossed his arms and patently watched Carol evenly sprinkle something between the smoking papers, equally distributing the contents before licking the edge to seal it shut. “Didn't you tell me she used to be a teacher?” he whispered to Therese.

“Yeah,” she laughed, “of art history.” Therese nudged Dannie, making sure he kept listening as they watched Carol carefully and quickly rolling cigarettes. “Her grandfather owned tobacco barns up in Connecticut, so she actually knows a lot about this sort of thing.”

Dannie turned to her with a smile. “That's not tobacco, Therese,” he said then walked over to Carol to get one of the cigarettes she had just finished rolling.

11:57 p.m.

“Thank you very much for inviting us, Phil.”

“You're welcome. You guys are always welcome here.”

“You didn’t have to work tonight?”

“Nope! A perk of being the head projectionist… and manager.” Phil grinned and squeezed Carol's hand. “Thanks to you.”

“Me? I didn't - “

“Yes, you did,” Phil laughed. “You put a word in with the boss.”

Carol rolled her eyes and continued dancing with Phil, not speaking for a minute. He was an awkward dancer - perhaps it was the beer - however Carol didn't mind dancing with him and he was the only man there she didn't completely dwarf when standing side-by-side. It was getting late though, despite none of them needing to be at work for the next three days and after four beers, there was no way Carol was going to drive them both home, even if it was only five minutes away.

“We should probably head out.”

“No, stay! There's a vacancy on the couch tonight,” Phil smiled. “You've had a few and… when was the last time you had - “

“Valid point,” Carol interrupted with a giggle. 

She never giggled. At least not in front of anyone other than Therese or Rindy. And Carol figured if she was giggling, Therese would be…

Just sitting on the couch, finishing her beer as she watched Phil and Carol dance. Louise and Dannie, and perhaps someone else - Therese couldn't be certain - had gone into Dannie's room to go to bed. She was tired, and Carol had definitely noticed from ten feet away.

“Let me get you two some pillows and a blanket,” Phil offered, letting go of Carol’s hand to turn off the music and fetch the bedding for them.

Carol looked around the room, taking note of the dirty plates with pie crusts and empty beer bottles strewn about the room. She knew it was probably driving Phil crazy to have such a mess throughout his usually tidy apartment, but it could wait until morning until everyone was more alert to assist with the clean up.

After removing her sweater, Carol reached behind her back, beneath the upper part of her slip to remove her bra without taking anything else off. Therese watched from the chair near the couch, wondering how Carol could make awkwardly removing her bra without taking anything else off into something so sexy. Reclining onto the couch, Carol lay down, propping a pillow under her head and waited for Therese. Therese remained seated in the nearby chair, legs crossed and staring at Carol without saying a word, wondering where she was going to sleep. As though she could tell what she had been thinking, Carol patted her stomach and raised an arm above her head, tucking it beneath the pillow. Therese unbuttoned her jeans, still keeping them on, then removed her sweater, revealing she wore nothing else underneath. She tossed her sweater on top of Carol’s and glanced back at Carol in their makeshift bed.

“You’re pretty.”

Therese practically beamed and climbed on top of her, resting her head on Carol’s shoulder to get comfortable and reached down to pull up the cover, cocooning both of them in the warmth of the crocheted blanket.


	28. Camelot

Thursday, February 15th, 1962  
8:20 a.m.

By eight, the morning fog had dissipated. Carol had made herself a cup of coffee and given Rindy a sip or two as she made her breakfast and packed a lunch. Wearing nothing more than her bathrobe, Carol sat in the kitchen and chatted with Rindy as she got ready, reminding her to bring home her practice clothes from basketball so they could be thrown into the wash. Therese had remained in bed, sleeping in on the first morning of a four-day weekend. Once Rindy scurried out the door, heading uptown to go to school, Carol promptly made her way back to the bedroom to take advantage of having the apartment to themselves for the entire day.

Despite falling asleep in a freezing cold bedroom, both Carol and Therese were pleasantly surprised (but in all honestly, not entirely surprised) that the room had sufficiently warmed throughout the night and neither had bothered with the pajamas strewn across the floor on their respective sides of the bed. Carol removed the robe, draping it across the back of the chair by her desk, and crawled back into bed to gently rouse Therese from her sleep.

Carol loved acting as Therese’s alarm clock, waking her by rolling her onto her back and skimming her hands across every one of her soft spots: her breasts, her buttocks, her stomach, her inner thighs, the side of her hip where there was the slightest spot of cushy skin. Carol couldn’t remember those miniscule fleshy bits on her hips when they first met, not that it mattered when all she wanted to do was kiss and touch every possible inch. 

It didn’t matter if Carol used her hands or used her mouth: Therese would arch her hips off the bed whenever Carol came into contact with her inner thigh. Almost nine years together and it was still the greatest surprise that could make her quiver with impatience any time Carol caressed from her knee to the juncture of her thighs.

“I’m glad we’re having a four-day weekend,” Therese managed to squeak out between kisses. “Glad we don’t have to leave this bed until two... “

Carol gently nibbled on Therese’s neck and kissed away at the spots where she had been persistently nipping and licking since they had woken up. “Four,” she cheerily corrected as she pressed her hand to the side of her exposed neck, “Rindy has basketball practice until four.”

“ _You_ just want to break your record,” Therese smugly stated, trying not to pant.

“Yes, but, dearest, I don’t want to break _you_.” 

9:17 a.m.

“Let the… ring. Ignore the… ignore... phone. Don’t. You. Dare. Stop. What. You’re. Doing.”

9:39 a.m.

“Don’t… answer… let… just… ring… “

9:58 a.m.

Carol scrambled to pick up the phone, flipping it right side around by tossing the handset onto the bed so she could pick it back up without having to change hands. Saying nothing into the phone, she listened and regained her balance as she was splayed across the bed on her stomach. 

“Oh, thank God,” Abby dramatically cried into the telephone, not waiting for the responder to say a word. “I figured one of you would have to come up for air sometime soon.”

“I’ll ignore that,” Carol dismissively noted as she wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb. “Where’s the fire?” 

“The phone's been ringing non-stop since I got here.”

“What’s going on?”

“‘What’s going on?’” Abby mockingly repeated. “Didn’t you watch TV last night? Or were you two too busy… wait, are you still going from last night?“

“Despite it having been Valentine’s Day,” Carol began in a haughty tone, “it was nonetheless a school night for your niece.”

“You were watching TV though?”

“We had dinner, watched TV - oh, that White House tour - we watched that together and - “ Carol stopped mid-sentence as she was interrupted by Abby’s laughter into the mouthpiece.

“Yeah, well, you and everyone else in America fucking watched,” Abby said in a low voice, “because now all the tri-state area _hausfrauen_ are clamoring to get their mitts on some early 19th-century Empire sofas or New England colonial-crafted highboys. ‘Do you have anything in stock? Do you know where we can get them? Can you get them?’ Someone even called from San Francisco… it’s not even seven in the fucking morning there yet, for Christ’s sake. Someone in that earthquake-ridden zone has been thinking - waiting - to call you, and all night at that, to ask about chairs. It’s been like that since I opened, Carol. Someone else even asked if we could get ‘one of them _pianas_.’”

“The piano?”

“Yeah.”

“The custom-built-for-FDR piano?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus Christ.” Carol sat up, which disrupted the blanket covering Therese until she pulled it up around her to keep away the chill, and faintly smiled out of the corners of her mouth. “Would you like me to come down there?”

“It’s a lot to ask - “

“Nonsense.”

“Sorry you have to get dressed.”

“It’s fine, Abby, honestly,” she laughed, looking over to Therese who was staring her down. Therese had become accustomed to things coming up if Abby wasn’t well or if Carol had a particularly inflexible client who requested an appointment out of hours. Since she had taken those two days off from work, it wasn’t as bad and she knew Carol would love having her there to help out. Therese blinked a few times, then raised her head and lowered it back down, loudly tumbling against the fluffy pillow to get Carol’s attention. Carol winked back, still listening to Abby ramble on, and finally cut her off once Abby started coughing into the telephone. “Give me thirty minutes. We’ll be right there.”

“You know damn well you and Therese take more than - “

Already knowing what Abby would say, Carol hung up the phone with a chuckle and turned back to Therese who was smiling and eagerly awaiting an explanation. “Well? Where _is_ the fire?”

“Oddly enough, today is _the_ day for an antique furniture expert in this country to shine.” Shifting to look back over to Therese, Carol grinned and tucked her hair back behind her ears. “Remember last night? The White House tour?”

“Yes.”

“Everyone’s looking for some similar pieces for their own homes,” Carol exuberantly explained as she pulled the blanket back off Therese to finish what she had started two hours earlier and kissed her way back down Therese's body, “and they want a Jackie to show them a thing or two.”

Therese smiled in reply and with her left hand, guided Carol's head precisely where she wanted it.

10:56 a.m.

“Why on earth did you bring that? You know, the Chemex over there works perfectly fine.”

Carol glanced down into the cardboard box she held, staring at the largest of the Moka pots sticking out of the top along with the small coffee cups and saucers. “I know you like it. Besides, that glass doesn’t keep the coffee hot at all.”

“True.”

“If we offer people coffee, it might buy us some time should we have a rush.”

“And if you put on enough airs, it’ll be like buying from Jackie herself,” Abby pointed out as she watched Carol pick a piece of lint off her jacket and flick it onto the floor. “You Miss Porter’s girls.”

“That’s where the similarities end, my dear,” Carol firmly insisted. 

Therese scrunched her face and shook her head, pointing to Carol’s hair which had most recently been coiffed into a modest bouffant; Abby gesturing to Carol's tailored black-and-white tweed Chanel suit. “And the horseback riding… and the French… and the Seven Sisters college,“ added Abby. “Just start elongating those vowels and dropping your r’s - “

“I was not raised on Long Island and I _never ever_ … bite your tongue! Now, scram... things to do.” 

Carol blushed, pushing Abby out of the backroom so she could manage a few more moments alone with Therese. Once the office door was shut, Carol turned her attention back to Therese and perched herself on the edge of the desk, reaching her hands forward to tug on the lapels of Therese’s jacket and run her hands up and down the fabric. “I’m sorry, dearest.”

Therese moved closer and wrapped her arms around Carol’s waist. “No worries.” Carol leaned forward to kiss her, but she moved away, smiling. “Don’t,” she laughed and lightly pinched Carol's chin, “you’ll smudge your lipstick and don’t have time for a touch-up. Here.” She shifted forward and kissed Carol on the tip of her nose, avoiding disrupting any of the makeup on Carol's cheeks or lips, for as long as possible. “You… go do your magic.”

“Go do _your_ magic.”

Therese rustled her saddlebag over her shoulder and adjusted it as she took two steps toward the office door. “I shouldn’t be long at the printers, and if there’s a problem with the catalogue reprint timetable, I’ll call.”

“No later than tomorrow noon and - “

“ - and?”

“ and that includes delivery.” Carol looked up at Therese and gently tapped the blotter on her desk for emphasis. “Here.”

“Anything else?”

Carol paused, breaking her eye contact with Therese to stare off and think for a moment, then looked over at her again and motioned her back toward the desk with the repeated curl of a finger. As soon as Therese was once more within an arm’s reach, Carol extended her arms forward to wrap around Therese’s waist to pull her close again. “Aside from you? Perhaps some lunch?”

“I’m not lunch.“

“You could be.” 

Pressing her lips to Carol’s nose again, Therese closed her eyes then pulled away from Carol to head out on her errands. Sometimes, Carol could be completely single-minded and distracted by Therese's presence and cease to think of anything but having her within an arm's reach. It didn’t matter if Carol was tugging her arm to get Therese back into bed or standing behind her as she brushed her teeth in front of the bathroom mirror, Carol would find any and every excuse to have some form of contact with her. Not that Therese minded one bit. “I will stop by the apartment before heading back over.”

“And if it’s not too much a bother,” Carol winced, rubbing her stomach, “could you please bring a couple bottles of ginger ale? My stomach’s none too pleased with me.”

“You haven’t eaten anything - food - “ she added before Carol had the chance to assert anything to the contrary “ - and once you do, you’ll feel better. I will be back here to help out before you know it.”

“Drive carefully,” Carol said, tugging on Therese’s hand. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Therese smiled and backtracked a third time toward Carol to kiss her on the nose once more before heading out, standing on tiptoe to reach her desired target. 

1:36 p.m.

By the time Therese returned from the print shop along with a brown paper bag filled with sandwiches, the crowd in the shop had more or less dispersed. Most likely the barrage of customers had gone home for lunch; the only other interruption seemed to be coming from the telephone that rang every few minutes, mainly with prospective customers who resided in other time zones. 

Since Abby had been there alone with the early morning customers, Carol told her to break first to avoid closing the shop for an hour like they usually did, in the event some visitors used their lunch hour to stop in. While Abby bundled up to go sit out back and smoke her cigarettes, Carol and Therese supervised the store front, with Carol pleasantly talking to everyone who came in, collecting money and recording names and addresses for mailing the catalogue reprints, and arranging deliveries for the numerous purchases that had been taken since nine in the morning. Therese busied herself making fresh coffees, bringing a double espresso over to Abby, who eagerly took it from her hands and threw it back as though it were a shot of vodka.

“Alright there?” Therese asked.

Abby nodded and passed the empty coffee cup back to her. “Yeah, thanks for that, Therese.”

“Would you like another?”

Shaking her head, Abby answered, “I’ll pass. I shouldn’t go home a jittery mess later. Red’s just gonna give me more _caffè_ at dinner and probably have me bouncing off the walls.”

“I’m sure she won’t mind,” Therese teased with a wink.

“Hell, I mind!” Abby scoffed. “I gotta get to bed at some point since I’ll be coming in again around nine tomorrow with Carol out and - “

Abby never complained about managing the shop on her own two or three times a week, especially with her always coming in on Saturdays since her girlfriend also worked weekends, allowing them both to share the same days off. It was never so busy that she couldn’t handle the typical influx of customers by herself. Not like it had been that morning. Despite working with customers practically every day, Abby could easily get overwhelmed by so many people coming at her with demands, causing her to simply shut down in order to keep herself from having a flurry of expletives flying from her mouth at innocent bystanders searching for one-of-a-kind dining room chairs.

“I’ll talk to Carol, okay?” Therese assured her. “This rush was completely unexpected. And, truthfully, I really don’t mind. I just like spending time with Carol.” Abby gave her a look, raising one eyebrow, jokingly expecting Therese to say something more. “And you,” she quickly added before leaving Abby’s office.

Therese sauntered down the small hallway and toward the coffee pot whose its contents were still warm, and poured a cup for Carol, adding a splash of milk and half a spoon of sugar for her. No one else appeared to be in the store, and Therese found her sitting down on one of the oversized leather armchairs near the sales counter. It was one of the chairs that she was reluctant to sell because it was so comfortable and whenever she was in the shop by herself, Carol would often be sitting in it and reading a book or browsing a magazine. When they were completely alone in the store and the front door locked, she and Carol would sit in the armchair big enough for two and look out over the beautiful items on display in the store Carol had started four years earlier. 

Therese stood in front of the chair, watching Carol catch her breath and relax before the next crowd ushered in. Moments later, probably after hearing Therese’s muted footsteps come toward her, Carol looked up to see Therese patiently standing with the coffee cup and saucer in her hand. Softly smiling, Carol took the coffee from her, and reminded her she didn’t have to do anything of the sort.

“You know I like to,” she insisted. “There’s already sugar and milk in it for you.”

“Exactly how I like it.” Therese smiled, then looked around for somewhere to sit. She pointed to a nearby footstool, silently asking Carol if it would be acceptable for her to rest on that particular piece of furniture. “Go ahead.” Therese pulled the footstool closer so she was sitting directly across, remaining quiet as Carol drank her coffee, calmly and casually lowering the cup onto the saucer, then lifting it again moments later for another sip. 

“Everything okay?” she asked once Carol had finished and took the cup away from her.

With a demure grin on her face, Carol looked across to Therese. “More than okay. Sold sixteen pieces so far today, twenty-seven catalogues at two bucks a pop, got about ten offers for pieces to buy… someone even purchased that hideous Georgian crystal chandelier.”

Therese sat up straighter, turning her head to see the chandelier then looking directly at Carol without saying anything for a few seconds. “That thing? That thing cost… are you serious?”

Carol nodded in reply and sat back in the chair. “I’m going to call Greenwich in a bit to see how they’re doing and get their catalogue requests. I'm afraid this printing is going to be rather outdated.”

“All that matters is that you give them a 'guidebook’ of sorts. You will just have to find more inventory to match the requests.”

“Definitely.” 

“You will have to get new photos of said new inventory.”

“Mmm hmm. I _think_ I know a photographer… “ Carol pulled the notebook from her pocket and skimmed over the notes and addresses. “I got four evaluations in the city tomorrow, then six others to schedule in White Plains, Rye, Montclair… two - three - others in Stockbridge, Albany, and... Farmington. I'll have to see about Farmington because Rindy would like to visit Miss Porter’s again now that she submitted her application.”

“Road trip?” Therese asked with an expectant grin.

Carol grinned right back at her. “Road trip.”

5:48 p.m.

When Rindy walked into her mother's shop, there were still a few customers milling around and inspecting the pieces on the floor. She immediately noted the bright yellow “Sold” tags hanging from several of the fixtures - many more than usual - and smiled when she spotted her mother engaged with a woman in a luxurious ermine coat. Rindy waved to her and motioned that she was heading toward the back office. 

As she opened the door, Rindy found Therese on the phone, seated at her mother’s desk and busy as she mindlessly wrote down names and addresses on a messy sheet of lined paper. After a couple minutes she put down her pen and looked up at Rindy who smiled back at her. Therese balanced the phone against her shoulder and sat back in Carol's leather chair, intently listening. “Okay, I'll tell her. She’s still with some customers. Would you like to talk to Rindy? She just came in.”

Therese stood up to pass the phone to Rindy, lifting the phone cord over herself and the desk as she handed it to her. Mouthing that she was going back out on the floor, Therese left Rindy in the office and grinned as she watched Rindy grabbed the phone and smile as she said hello.

“Hey, Rin,” greeted a familiar voice.

“Jack!”

“Did you just come from basketball?”

“I did.”

“Practice or a game?”

“Practice. Conditioning day. I hate Thursdays.”

“Ugh,” Jack sympathized. “At least your home now.”

“I guess,” she muttered. “What are you doing there so late? Don't you have class?”

“I do, but we're all here pitching in today. So much for 'Thursday afternoon by appointment.’”

“What's going on?”

“Well,” Jack sighed, “did you watch the First Lady's White House tour last night?”

“Yup.”

“Everyone wants similar stuff.”

“Oh.”

“And your mother has the best selection of that stuff in the tri-state area.”

Rindy grinned and switched hands with the phone, then looked down at the notes in the margins of the sheets where Therese had been writing earlier. “I see,” she said. “Oh, before I forget! Thank you for the Valentine's card. That was really sweet of you and Teddy!”

“You're welcome, Rin. We loved your card too and it's right on the mantle in the library, right in the center where we can see it.”

“Will we see you this weekend?”

“Probably,” Jack replied, “but truthfully, it depends on the weather. I know you have your tutoring on Saturday, and then Aunt Carol wants a staff meeting. You up here or are we down there?”

“Not sure. We’ll be going up there, I bet. Mommy will probably call you about it later.” 

“Alright,” Jack answered, “I better go close up, head home, start dinner… and get the house ready for guests this weekend.“

“Talk to you later maybe.”

“Sounds good!”

“Give Teddy a hug from me!”

“Of course.”

“Do you need me to put mom back on?” Rindy angled herself to look out onto the shop floor to see where her parents were. Carol was standing by the cash register, writing in her ledger, and Therese was nowhere in sight.

“No, all good for now.”

“Okay, I love you!”

“Love you, Rin.”

Rindy hung up the phone and peered back out from her mother's office, spying her mother behind the counter reviewing the day's receipts. She shut the office door and headed toward the counter, careful not to interrupt her as she added up columns of the day's numbers in a notebook, then recorded them in the ledger. After Carol jotted down a string of numbers, she put her mechanical pencil in the crease of the ledger, and looked up at her daughter. “Hello, sweet pea,” she greeted in a tired voice and leaned forward over the counter to give Rindy a kiss.

“Hi, mommy,” Rindy distractedly replied as she flipped around her mother's notebook of numbers and waved a hand for her mother to pass the pencil sitting in the fold of the ledger. Carol watched as Rindy worked through the columns in only a couple of minutes, concentrating on the lines of numbers and making corrections until she then turned the notebook back around so it faced her mother. It seemed to take her no time at all to go through everything, far faster than it would have been for Carol to do it herself. “Yes?”

Carol skimmed everything over, raising an eyebrow at the speed and accuracy in which her daughter could figure things out, smiling as she shut the book. She hadn’t even finished going through everything, but it only took Rindy a matter of time to make sense of everything. Not to mention she was significantly faster at figuring out long strings of numbers in a matter of minutes. 

“I trust you.”

As they both stared at the notebook for a moment longer, there was a tap on the glass door. Both Carol and Rindy looked up, spotting Abby’s girlfriend standing outside carrying a long cardboard box in both hands and struggling to keep it from tumbling to the ground. Rindy rushed over to the door to unlock it, standing to the side so she could come into the store without anything falling over.

“Thanks, Rindy,” she said. “Abby’s still here, right?”

“She’s still here,” Rindy replied and gestured with her head to the back of the shop. Shifting her attention back to Abby’s girlfriend. “What’s in the box?”

“Abby called earlier and said you were extraordinarily busy - beyond the typical weekday busy - so I brought you all some dinner.”

“Oh, _cara_ , you didn’t have to,” Carol offered.

“Oooh, what is it?” asked Rindy.

“Roast beef sandwiches with the crusts cut off and potato chips.” Rindy made a face at her and started to speak; however was unable to think of anything to say that sounded even a little bit enthusiastic. She liked roast beef, but was hoping for something different than what she had made herself for lunch that morning. “Just kidding. It’s lasagna. Plus there’s a Tupperware container of salad and some garlic bread.” Rindy let out a joyous squeal and went over to the leather chair where Carol liked to sit finding Therese had shut her eyes and nodded off. She prodded her mother’s arm a couple times, jolting her awake with the quietest snort. 

“Where should I put this, Carol?”

“Just go set it up in my office. We can eat in there - unless you want to go up to the apartment? Do you have plates and forks?”

“Sure do. We can just eat here.”

“Abby’s just typing up some addresses in the back. Let me finish up out here.” As she began to make her way to Carol’s back office, Carol very plainly shouted back, “We’ll be there in a few minutes. _Non - scopare - sulla mia scrivania_. Rindy, come help me count the drawer, would you?”

Rindy laughed to herself as she walked over to the register, knowing full well that whatever her mother had told Abby’s girlfriend must have been good if she didn't say it in English.

7:15 p.m.

As Abby sat outside, smoking her ninth cigarette of the day, she stared off at the brick wall in front of her in the alley. She didn’t care what that _Reader’s Digest_ said, if she wanted to smoke a cigarette or two or a whole pack in a day, she would. Sometimes the sound of the traffic from Fourth Avenue would seep into the alleyway, especially the horns from the annoyed folks who were at the tail end of rush hour traffic, merely trying to make their way home. She turned her head to look back past the doorway into the shop, watching Carol, Rindy, and her girlfriend rambunctiously chat with one another, each of them making an obscene amount of hand gestures as they spoke, grinned, and laughed over whatever it was they were discussing. 

Her sight of the three of them huddled together talking became blurry when Abby refocused her sight and found Therese standing near her. Abby smiled and waved her over, eager to have someone to chat with while she finished her cigarette. Therese stood opposite, leaning against the brick wall and balancing herself against it with her back and her right foot that she raised and pressed against it. Abby offered her one of the last drags of her cigarette, but Therese refused, shaking her head and softly smiling as Abby finished up.

“Nora loves you.” 

Abby silently stared back Therese, watching how Therese smiled and added just a hint of laughter to how she said it. The way she had said “loves” was as though it was one of the longest words in the English language. One final puff on the cigarette gave Abby a moment to think about what she wanted to say, making sure to blow the smoke away from Therese’s general direction. 

“She doesn’t stop talking about you.”

Still quiet, Abby said nothing as she replayed Therese’s words in her mind and tossed the cigarette end to the ground. She caught her breath, realizing that without a cigarette in her hand she had nothing else to fiddle with as she stood there with Therese. Once she remembered the flask of bourbon in her jacket pocket, she reached in, unscrewed the cap, and took an extended sip, then extended her hand to offer it to Therese.

“No, thanks.”

Abby pulled the flask back, taking another length sip and scrunching her face as the alcohol ran down the back of her throat. Letting out a cough, she masked it by clearing her throat a few times, lifting her left hand to her mouth to cough into her glove. Therese dug her hands into her own pockets, hunching forward to keep her jacket shut as tightly as possible without having to button it up.

“Does she know you love her?”

Both Therese and Abby turned their heads quickly when they heard the loudest, most boisterous laughter coming from inside the store. Carol was laughing and wiping tears from her eyes, Rindy had fallen over onto the floor uncontrollably howling with laughter, and Abby’s girlfriend was simply looking at the two of them with the biggest grin on her face as she watched them react to whatever it was she had said.

“You can be really thick sometimes.”

Abby looked away from Therese, screwing the cap back onto her flask, then shoved it back into her pocket. Taking a deep breath and puffing out her cheeks as she exhaled, Abby kept thinking, remembering the couple of vacations to the Cape they had taken together during the summer, the winter nights when they would curl up together under the eiderdown quilts in Abby’s bed. There were also those months throughout the last nine years where they hadn’t been together, when she’d become so frustrated by Abby’s flippant attitude or behavior, and simply called it off. Then, there were also the two years where they didn’t speak at all; that time when Abby had cheated on her with a woman she had met at a bar in the Village. She didn’t know why she did it. It had just… happened. Sure, their relationship was messy and complicated at times; however in the end, they always forgot and forgave.

“Not everyone has a girl like Nora who would go out of her way to bring you lasagna at work.”


	29. Wouldn't It Be Nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Carol is definitely not someone who likes the summers. (When Therese asks her in the book 'why must you pick such cold places? When will I work?' It's so cute) so how do you think these two manage the New York summers?"

Friday, July 8th, 1966

“You were complaining how chilled you were not fifteen minutes ago. Now you’re sweating.”

As Carol looked up from the newspaper she had just begun to rifle through, she unknowingly wiped a hand across her damp brow moments after Therese mentioned the word “sweating.”

“You make no sense.”

Panicking a moment, Carol’s hand followed the line of her throat, expecting to trace across warm blotches of skin throughout her neck and mostly bare upper chest. Sure enough, her skin was warm, contrasting against the cooler fingers as they moved back and forth. 

Therese’s eye caught Carol’s hand movements as they followed the path of her hand. As soon as she lifted it from her body, Carol extended her hand to the espresso cup on the table. “What _were_ you doing while I was in the shower?” 

A deep, throaty laugh came from the back of Carol’s throat as she raised the cup to her lips and threw back the coffee in a single go.

“You’re pretty flushed too.”

At the mention of being flushed, Carol began to billow the front of her slip to allow a faint breeze to cool her. “Just the heat, angel. So warm already today - “

“You sure? Is it… “

“Is it what?” Carol sputtered out as she quickly turned to Therese.

“You sure it’s not… “

Blankly staring back, Therese tilted her head and eyed her up and down, noticing the heavy flush and how Carol kept billowing the front of her slip to let in some cooler air until she’d had enough and returned her attention back to the newspaper. “Not what?” 

“Men- “ Therese stopped herself just after muttering a single syllable. She knew how uncomfortable Carol was, starting from her sitting in the kitchen in only her slip, wearing her hair pulled off the back of her neck as best she could. The bedroom was always too hot or too cold, preferably too cold with the air conditioning on or the bedroom windows open in the middle of February, but summer presented too many other issues and whenever possible, the two of them escaped to either the house in Greenwich (to sit by the pool) or to the Cape (to sit on their private patch of beach) when it truly got too warm to be in the city. And whether or not she liked to admit it, the combination of an early July summer heat wave and the onset of menopause was too much for Carol. They had encountered a sweltering summer here and there throughout the years they had been together, especially that first summer, but now it was too much for Carol, and definitely getting to be too much for Therese who originally didn’t mind those hot days in town. “I know,” Therese confidently said, putting her hands on her hips and looking down at the paper in Carol’s hands as she changed the subject, “close the shop for the weekend and more. There’s no point in being open in this heat, let alone the summer weekends. Lots of other stores in the city are closed too, so why not?”

“You sound like Jack.”

Therese put a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “Someone’s gotta in his absence.”

After tossing the newspaper onto the table, Carol pointed to the story at the bottom of the front page, “Army Arrests 3 Who Refused to Serve in Vietnam” then turned to look up at Therese. “He’s lucky.”

“He’s _loved_.” Carol reached up to rest her hand on top of Therese’s, moments later sliding downward to entwine their fingers together. “Let me make some calls and go pack, okay? When I’m done, I’ll go fetch the car and have the porter come up to help with the bags.”

* * *

“Better?” Therese asked as she reached behind her neck to unclasp her necklace. As soon as it was free, she placed the necklace in the small tray of personal items between the two of them. She covered it with a towel, then remembered Carol hadn’t removed her own jewelry. 

Carol said nothing in reply, maybe grunted before she burrowed herself further into her towel on the sand. Resting face down, she squirmed her shoulders and outstretched her arms without moving the lower half of her body and made no attempt to move otherwise. Once it was clear to Therese there was no chance of her moving until she absolutely had to, Therese shifted forward to remove her earrings and slide the ring off her finger.

Another directional grunt came from Carol, followed by the movement of her right arm behind her back gesturing to the tie of her swimsuit top. Therese chuckled, reaching for the tie and swiftly undoing it with her expedient fingers. Carol arched herself just high enough so she could tug it away without having it roughly brush against her. Therese remembered back to the first time she'd unfastened her top all those years before, over in Rapallo, and how hesitant she had been despite Carol's constant mantra of “no one cares about seeing breasts when there are nude paintings and sculptures abound here.” 

Carol propped herself on her elbow as she held out her bikini top with one hand and let it fall into the sand next to the jewelry tray before settling herself against the towel once more. Finally, she spoke and contentedly sighed, “The breeze feels wonderful.”

Therese kissed her bare shoulder in acknowledgement before she reached for the wicker bag with their belongings so she could remove a small bottle and the battery-operated radio they always used at the beach. She placed it on the sand next to her, then spent about a minute tracing her left hand up and down Carol's back. “You want some sunscreen?”

“Only a bit, but before you start, dearest,” Carol angled her head so she could look up at Therese through her sunglasses and stretched out to tap her fingers against the ring on Therese's left hand, “don't forget,” she gently reminded with a loving grin.


	30. Magic Isle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if you'd ever write about Carol and Abby playing tennis. It would be really fun I think to see Therese trying to calm her ogling at Carol in a white tennis skirt all hot under the collar.

Saturday, September 8th, 1962  
5:15 a.m.

“Hmm.”

Carol recognized the purr emit from somewhere low in Therese’s throat the third time her lips pressed to the back of her neck. That spot on the back of Therese’s neck faintly smelled like the shampoo she had washed her hair with the morning before, and the soap she had used to wash with prior to going to bed. Continuing to breathe in her scent as she kissed a lazy pattern between Therese’s neck and shoulders, Carol listened as Therese gently stirred from her sleep then fully placed her arms around Therese’s middle, pressing her firmly against her body. “You fit so perfectly there,” Carol quietly noted, strumming her fingers up and down her stomach as Therese became more and more alert with each touch.

Out of the corner of her mouth, Therese softly whispered, “Stop fidgeting.”

“I’m not fidgeting,” she replied, leaning up toward Therese’s ear before finally resting her chin on top of her shoulder.

“What time is it?”

“Does it matter?” Carol retorted without angling herself around to see the alarm on the bedside table. She knew it was early. “Abby and I have court time at half-past six.”

“In that case, five more minutes,” Therese murmured, then backed herself further into Carol who tightened her grip around Therese and kissed the spot beneath her neck again. She felt Therese’s breathing steady as she started to fall back asleep with the arm draped over her waist. “Make it ten,” she managed to squeak out before Carol heard only the tiniest of snores from the bed’s fellow occupant.

Therese couldn’t see Carol smirking behind her. There was no way Therese was going to fall asleep for another ten minutes, not when it was Saturday and there were still bright, cool weekend mornings at the house in Greenwich where she and Abby could get together for tennis at a nearby club. Therese didn’t like to play, and Carol knew she couldn’t stand the other country club members who loved to corner her to go on and on about their sailboats, their children just off to boarding school or college, and the one member who dared show up last year for Saturday luncheon wearing a linen shirt. 

After Labor Day, at that.

“The nerve!” Carol recalled Therese mockingly mutter in reply to the woman who pointed it out to her. It was also the one time Carol nearly spit up her drink in the company of others.

Despite the snores, Carol kept kissing her neck and shoulders, hoping to gently rouse her one more time before they needed to be awake. As Carol became to scoot down the bed, trailing her lips all along Therese’s spine, she heard a hefty snort by the time she reached the middle of Therese’s back since she couldn’t sleep any longer. She flipped over onto her other side, facing Carol who had scooted back up the bed, and wrapped her arm around Carol’s waist. 

“You know I adore these tennis Saturdays.”

Carol chuckled. “Oh, do you?”

Shifting her arm from Carol’s waist to her leg, then using her hand to grip her thigh to press it between her legs, Therese delicately moaned and nodded before speaking. “Something about those extremely short skirts… and your exceedingly tanned and toned thighs.”

“What exactly?”

“It’s… “ Therese began, then rocked herself against Carol’s leg for a moment, “sexy. Don’t think I haven’t caught Abby watching you bend over to collect tennis balls between matches."

Carol pulled back a little from Therese and scrunched her facial expressions. “What?!” As soon as she spoke, she relaxed and pulled in closer to Therese, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. She pressed hand to her forehead and sighed. “Oh, Abby, honestly.”

“Not like I don’t do the same,” Therese quickly added, not sure if Carol even heard a word of what she had said as she changed her position on the bed. She moved her hand from Carol’s thigh to her arm and gently squeezed the muscle there. “It’s also those sleeveless tops showing off your arms, a tint of muscle. I think about that. That’s pretty sexy too, I ought to add.”

Reaching down between the two of them, Carol pressed her hand against Therese, instantly discovering with just a touch her response to exactly what she thought of her in tennis apparel. “Those forearm muscles do come in – “

Therese wasn’t able to hear the rest of her sentence as she spent the good part of the proceeding thirty minutes benefiting from the dexterity of Carol’s tennis forearm.


End file.
